


Some Assembly Required

by TalksToSelf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Childbirth, Developing Relationship, Graphic Description, M/M, Ongoing case, That's not how adoption works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalksToSelf/pseuds/TalksToSelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tragic event leaves John and Sherlock in charge of a newborn baby girl, the adoption surprisingly gains Mycroft's approval but ultimately the family's survival will come down to one question: Is Sherlock capable of being a father or will his own past come back and haunt him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going down

It was certainly not how John had intended to spend his Friday evening, but then Sherlock and emergency rooms seemed to go hand in hand. At least once a month (with a far too alarming frequency, in John's opinion) Sherlock would get himself so badly injured that it wasn't something John could just patch up at the flat, this time it was a knife wound, a long crimson arch from his shoulder to his elbow that required stronger pain medication than John was allowed to issue (and stronger pain medication than he felt comfortable with Sherlock taking, if he was completely honest) and a few dozen stitches. Needless to say that, and the fact that the adult A&E department had been moved to the fifth floor of the nearest hospital to make room for a children's emergency ward had left Sherlock in a foul mood.  
  
In fact as they crossed the brightly lit corridor to get to the elevator, John could swear he saw a little black storm cloud above Sherlock's head (though to be fair his hair resembled one anyway), crackling with pent up rage and irritation.   
"If you don't want to end up at the hospital, stop getting yourself cut to shreds!" John hissed at him as Sherlock jabbed the call button with a completely unnecessary venom.  
"Oh yes, of course, how foolish of me, next time I'll just ask the violent child molestor to put down the blade shall I? Maybe invite him round for tea and biscuits? He looked like a jammy dodger man, don't you think?" Sherlock spat sarcastically, stepping into the thankfully vacant lift - John wouldn't wish a pissed off Sherlock on anybody.  
  
John sighed softly as the elevator began to clatter down to the next floor. He had not yet worked out a way to explain to Sherlock that he was his best mate and he didn't want to see him hurt - not that it would actually stop Sherlock acting recklessly and jumping on criminals, because that's just the way Sherlock's mind works when it's on a case, but it might make him think twice before he did it. Nobody got on on the fourth floor, Sherlock took a long moment to scowl at the open doors  
"Who puts an accident and emergency ward on the fifth floor?" He demanded, irritated. "Patients could bleed to death in transit. When did children become more important than adults? Surely adults are more likely to be critically injured in their day to day lives?"  
"Does seem a bit daft." John agreed as they hurtled down to the third floor. Maternity. An unassuming blonde woman waddled into the lift, cradling her bump and Sherlock surveyed her with mild interest -likely deducing her current stage of gestation alongside her life history.   
  
"Look all I'm asking is that next time you stop and think before..."  
"I'm ALWAYS thinking John, if I stop it will only waste valuable time!" Sherlock protested. The lift jerked violently and John ended up nearly in the woman's lap as the lights went out plunging them into darkness.  
"Sorry sorry... are you okay?" John fretted, she hadn't fallen over but she had careered backwards into the wall.  
"I'm fine." She squeaked as they both straightened up. (Sherlock had somehow maintained his balance - the lanky prat's centre of gravity must be higher)  
"Oh great." Sherlock grumbled, hitting the emergency call button as John pushed the battery operated push light high on the wall. It wasn't much but it illuminated them enough to see each other.  
  
"The call button's not working." Sherlock did not sound worried, just increasingly annoyed.  
"They have back up generators, we'll be moving again in no time." John promised, sparing a glance at the blonde girl, who nodded calmly. John raised an eyebrow at her, wondering how she was so collected when she was stuck in a lift, evidently heavily pregnant. She giggled.  
"Oh don't worry, I've got hours yet." She said reassuringly. "Early labour, I was only going for a walk to get it started really." Sherlock rolled his eyes, he evidently could not care less about her impending arrival. John scowled at him and offered her his hand.  
"I'm John and this moody git's Sherlock." John pointed his thumb at Sherlock who did not seem best pleased at being described as a 'moody git', _'_ _if he'd wanted complimenting he shouldn't_ _behave_ _like_ _said_ _moody git_ _'_ John thought bitterly.  
"Amy." She said brightly, shaking John's hand.  
  
"Is it your first, Amy?" John asked, making a vague gesture towards her belly.  
"Oh please tell me we're not doing small talk." Sherlock groaned, banging the back of his head against the wall.  
"Sherlock!" John scolded.  
"Of course it's her first, look at her she's barely twenty!" Sherlock argued, now that John could see her properly in the dim emergency lighting, Sherlock was right - Amy looked very young indeed.  
"Twenty one actually... Bit rude, your boyfriend." Amy told John who ran his hand instinctively through his hair.  
"Yeah he i... wait he's not my boyfriend." He corrected as an afterthought, ignoring Sherlock's dark chuckle.  
"Yes, it's my first." Amy confirmed, hand on her swollen stomach. John stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out his mobile, unsurprised to see they had no signal. Just before 8pm. He sighed.   
  
"It shouldn't be too long, they've got procedures for stuff like this." John said aloud.   
"Depends what it is." Sherlock said unhelpfully. "If it's a power outage exclusive to the hospital, they'll be up and running in no time. If it's a regional power outage, the emergency generators cover will only extend to lighting the operating theatres and the emergency exits. It seems the latter is the most likely, considering the contact lines are out and the CCTV is off." He pointed to the emergency call button, still in darkness and a small box above their heads. "Could be hours."  
"Shut up, Sherlock." John growled at him.  
"Only stating the facts." Sherlock sniffed haughtily, sliding down the wall to sit down. His impossibly long legs reached the other side of the lift, so he had to tuck his knees up, giving him the look of a petulant child sent to the naughty corner.  
  
"Might as well get comfy, we could be here for a while." He told Amy, helping her to the floor.  
"Don't think I've been comfy for five months, but I'll try my best!" She laughed, sitting in an awkwardly curled ball on the floor, her belly too large to accomodate the position. John joined her, sitting between her and Sherlock, who was twiddling on his out-of-use mobile phone.   
"We were just leaving, but someone will have noticed you going, right? Your partner or..."  
"No... no I'm here alone." She said softly, averting her eyes slightly. John immediately sensed he'd said the wrong thing, it was usually Sherlock putting his foot in his mouth, not John.  
"Tactless, John." Sherlock scolded, pleased to be in the right for once. "Obviously recently widowed." John cringed.   
  
"Oh..." She sounded slightly surprised and looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Is it really that obvious?"  
"Wedding ring, fairly new by the looks of it, recently removed from your ring finger, you've still got a tan line. It's hanging round your neck... if you'd just been divorced you wouldn't attach that much sentiment to it, it's on the same chain as an RAMC locket, closed but assuming it contains a picture of your husband - You're an army widow, within the last few months - presumably no more than nine given your current state." Sherlock reeled off. Amy's hand flew to her neck and she clutched her locket, emblazoned (John could just see) with an army seal on it.  
"Uh... sorry about him." John mumbled awkwardly.  
"No... no it's fine. All correct." She said with a tiny nod. Sherlock nodded back, not extending any sympathy, merely acknowledging the fact he'd got it right.   
  
"I lost Jay six months ago, he was killed in Afghanistan." John felt a slight pang in his chest, he'd been out there, he'd seen it, he'd seen good men die... he always knew some of them had sweethearts back home, when he came back he'd considered visiting the fiance of his deceased comrade Dolly (Dalton, but they all went by nicknames out there) but hadn't found the heart to - he made a mental note to email her when he got home.  
"I'm sorry." John offered, reaching forward and taking her hand as a comforting gesture. She gave a weak smile in return.  
"We'd been married less than a year..." She said softly. Sherlock moaned.  
"Oh don't give us the tragic backstory." He complained.  
"Shut the fuck up, Sherlock." John growled. "Please continue." He told Amy reassuringly. She hesitated.   
  
"We've been together since I was 13... we met in foster care actually... my parents died when I was a baby, his gave him up for adoption when he was five but nobody wanted him... people want to adopt babies. We were thick as thieves... when you don't have anybody else in the world, the one person you do have... it makes it more special I think." She mumbled, still fingering her gold locket. John shot a glance at Sherlock, who was staring at the ceiling and counting under his breath. "He joined the army when he turned 18... promised me when he came back he'd marry me... he did." She smiled wistfully.  
"He sounds like an amazing man." John told her earnestly.  
"He was... he really was. We got married last year and I fell pregnant almost straight away... he was so excited. We didn't have a good upbringing... nobody really likes carehome kids... think we're trouble. He promised when he came home that we'd do it right but he never came home." She sighed heavily.   
  
"Oh enough about me, you don't need to hear my sobstory!" She said firmly, realising John had been looking at her sympathetically.   
"Agreed." Sherlock murmured.  
"Sherlock, we have JUST got out of A&E, if you don't want to go straight back there the minute this lift starts again I mean it: shut up." He warned.  
"Are you threatening me?" Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow.  
"Yes. If you can't say anything nice..." He started.  
"Boring." Sherlock cut in, leaping to his feet.  
"What the hell are you doing now?" John asked exasperatedly as Sherlock moved to the doors and began prying them open. "For fuck's sake Sherlock!"   
"Just seeing where we are." Sherlock answered, catching a brief glimpse of the elevator shaft, but before he could wrench the doors open fully he winced and fell back, clutching his injured arm. "Ugh. Between floors apparently." He grumbled, rubbing his sore arm. John sighed.   
"Just sit down and behave, alright?" Sherlock scowled but did as he was told.   
  
For the next half an hour John struggled to make small talk between the three of them, Sherlock doing his absolute damndest to wind people up, and Amy becoming slightly agitated as the minutes passed. She started doing some pregnancy breathing exercises and Sherlock genuinely looked like he wanted to punch her.  
"Must you do that?" He demanded.  
"Unless you want me hyperventilating and using up all the oxygen in here then yes!" She grumbled still 'whit-whoo' breathing. John hit the emergency call button once more, it was still dead as it could be.   
"Common misconception. Elevators are not air tight, we have the entirety of the elevator shaft and likely the floor below us filled with oxygen. We shan't suffocate even with your incessant over breathing."  
"Oh you are SO lucky I'm all the way over here!" She growled, unable to get to her feet and deck him.   
"Okay, okay just... just calm down." John urged them both, placing his hands on Amy's shoulders. She keened at the touch, leaning backwards into it, still breathing deeply.  
  
Then she gave a whimper, her eyes clenching shut and her fists forming balls.  
"Was that a contraction?" John asked worriedly.  
"Bigger than the others... I've been getting little ones for half an hour or so." She mumbled embarrassedly, somewhat humilated by her situation.  
"Oh hell. Right..." John bit his lip, and even Sherlock knew this wasn't a good situation to be in. As Amy eased up, Sherlock's face became more tensed.  
"Realistically speaking, how long does this labor thing usually take?" He asked glancing at the clock on his phone.   
"They said I'd be ages." Amy promised. "My waters only broke at 6pm... I'm not in establish-oh." She whimpered again and gripped tightly onto John's hand.  
  
"John, you're a doctor, do something!" Sherlock fussed.  
"You're a doctor?" Amy queried despite her obvious discomfort.   
"I'm not that kind of doctor." John said hurriedly.   
"You have delivered babies before though." Sherlock pushed.  
"That was ONE woman and ONE baby, in Afghanistan... we were pushed for time and it was an emergency..." John said, a note of panic in his voice, wishing he'd never told Sherlock the story about the baby boy he'd delivered during a hostile evacuation.  
"What do you call this?" Sherlock argued, signalling to their surroundings.  
"You were in Afghanistan?" Amy panted, leaning slightly forward.  
"Uh yeah... army doctor."  
"You didn't..." She screwed her face up, her contractions coming thick and fast. "You didn't know Jay MacDonald, did you?"  
"No... not in my regiment." John said, heart racing as he assessed the situation. He had even less supplies to work with here than he did in Afghanistan - he had a pen knife in his pocket (and a gun, but that was useless) and that was it.  
  
"Fuck." He said decisively, realising he didn't have much choice. "Well uh... yeah I do _sort of_ know what I'm doing so... if it's okay I'll take a look, just to you know... see where you are because your contractions are quite close together so... bit of a worry."   
"Suppose so." Amy sighed, laying her head back against the wall. John was a medical man, and he knew the human body better than most people, but there was still something decidedly awkward about removing a woman's knickers and giving her a cervical examination on the floor of a lift with Sherlock watching cautiously over his shoulder. Luckily Amy seemed just as embarrassed about it as he did. A quick internal sweep confirmed John's worst fears.  
  
"Right well, you're definitely in established labour." He said, biting his lip.  
"Fuck." Amy said, agreeing with John's earlier sentiment.   
"You're about 6 centimetres dilated." He informed her, pulling back and tucking her skirt back into place.  
"What does that mean, relatively?" Sherlock did not like to admit he didn't know about everything, but pregnancy and birth was definitely not on his list of subjects he was knowledgable of.   
"It means she's progressing quickly." John said with a sigh. "Try the emergency call button again." He suggested somewhat hopelessly, unsurprised when Sherlock pressed the button and got no response once more.   
"I CAN'T be that far." She said shaking her head. "I was only 1 centimetre dilated when I left the ward and that was what... an hour ago? It takes ages... days sometimes!" She fretted.  
"Most women would be thankful for a quick labour... your little one just has terrible timing." John sighed and looked around, trying to see if there was anything he could use to assist in childbirth. Nope.  
  
"Maybe you'll get lucky and get stuck at 6 or 7 for a bit but generally when you've started dilating quickly you keep going... I'll check again in half an hour if we've not shifted by then, okay?" She nodded, and he felt suddenly very sorry for her, poor girl had only gone for a walk and she'd ended up stuck in this tiny lift in established labour with only the two of them for company. To be fair she had struck lucky that John had a bit of experience, John dreaded to think what Sherlock would be like in this situation on his own (shouting at the baby to stay in most likely), he'd already stood up and started furiously pacing the few steps across the lift back and forth, his palms pressed together beneath his lips.   
"You know... my birthing plan didn't include a lift." Amy said half heartedly. John squeezed her shoulder gently.  
"Sorry about that." He stood up and crossed to Sherlock who, despite himself looked quite frantic.  
  
John braced his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, careful to avoid his wound, making sure the detective stilled.  
"Calm down." He told Sherlock firmly, Sherlock gulped and lowered his voice to a whisper.   
"I'm not good in medical emergencies." He hissed. "I have no idea how to behave in this situation."  
"Just... just don't freak out. It's going to get messy and loud and I know you don't like loud but you're just going to have to grit your teeth. You don't need to do anything, okay. Hopefully the lift's going to come back to life soon and _I_ won't need to do anything but if I do just... just stand back and let me work okay?" John spoke in an equally hushed tone and looked Sherlock in the eyes.  
  
Sherlock was not used to handing control over to John, Sherlock was usually the one telling people to back off while he worked. Just this once he had to defer all practical usefulness to John. Sherlock was not used to being helpless and it irked him, but he had no time to worry about that. He cast a glance to Amy, sat on the floor in obvious pain and gulped once more.  
"Okay. It's in your capable hands, Doctor." Sherlock said, loud enough for Amy to hear, in an attempt to reassure her. John pushed down the odd swell of pride he got from Sherlock calling him 'Doctor' in such a fashion. Now was not the time to analyse it.  
  
"I'm sorry for causing so much trouble." Amy simpered, apologetically.  
"Shh, it's okay, it's not your fault." John told her, sinking back to his knees beside her and dabbing at her sweaty forehead with his sleeve. "In a bit you're going to be a mum, yeah... do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"  
"No. Jay wanted to find out but he died before the gender scan." Amy panted, wringing her hands. "There's no family or close friends or anything so... it was up to me. I chose not to find out... boy or girl it's going to be called Jay." She said firmly, John took her hand once more and let her squeeze it with her contraction.  
"Maybe take the stairs next time, eh?" He offered jokingly, she gave him a weak smile and nodded.  
  
John had never known Sherlock to be so quiet, the next twenty minutes passed without a thoughtless comment or tactless insult - the detective literally silent as he tried to cope with the situation.   
"8 centimetres." John confirmed on his next check, wishing the lift would start moving or at least the emergency floodlighting would kick in, the tiny push lamp on the wall was only casting a dim glow making his job that much harder.   
"How long until... the baby happens?" Sherlock asked cautiously, his voice an odd comfort to John's distress.   
"Not long." John sighed.  
"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry." Amy stuttered, shaking her head to free tears.  
"Don't be." John stressed once more. "Honestly, you're doing really well, Amy."   
"I'm not I'm rubbish, it hurts... it really hurts. I can't handle it. I can't... I can't cope." Her whole body wracked with the sobbing.  
  
Sherlock crossed to her and knelt beside her, he took her face in his hands a little too roughly.  
"Look at me." He insisted, drawing her wide blue eyes to his. "This is the hardest thing you will ever have to do and you are coping fabulously. Your body is a seething stew of hormones right now which is making you cry but that does not mean you are not coping. Use any mechanism you need, if you want to scream - scream, if you want to cry you keep crying, but don't doubt yourself. You're being incredibly brave and you're doing this all on your own. Don't doubt yourself, not now." John's mouth nearly fell open in shock. Sherlock did not do emotional support or kind words, but he'd apparently said exactly the right thing as Amy clung to him and continued crying into his shoulder. Sherlock shot John an 'I'm really not comfortable with this' glance, but he held her anyway and John felt oddly proud of the detective.  
  
An hour later the lights had blinked on and disappeared into nothingness once but other than that the lift was still as stuck as ever, the emergency call button still disconnected and Amy was starting to get quite frantic.  
"Oh god oh god it's happening. I'm actually going to give birth in a LIFT!" She cried hysterically, having been writhing around in agony for the past ten minutes. "John, John I NEED to push, you don't understand I NEED to push now!" She cried, Sherlock was still situated at her head, having his hand crushed with every contraction. He could not look more uncomfortable or out of place. John had checked Amy's progress only fifteen minutes ago and she'd still only been 8 centimetres dilated, but to put her mind at ease he checked her again.  
"Right well... yes. 10 centimetres. It's baby time." John said grimly, he shucked off his jacket so he had something to wrap the baby in when it arrived, rolled his sleeves all the way up and pulled out his pen knife and laying it on the floor beside Amy's hip.   
  
John spared them both an 'I've got this' look before setting to work.  
"Can you turn over? Onto your hands and knees?" He asked her. She tried to prop herself up and cried out in anguish.  
"I can't, no." She whimpered.  
"Okay okay." John frowned, gravity being on their side would certainly help but she was genuinely struggling to move and distressing her was not going to help so he eased her down onto her back, head facing the ceiling. Sherlock had not let go of her hand and John was mildly impressed by his behaviour, by his own admission Sherlock was rubbish at this sort of thing, John had fully expected Sherlock to stand back making cutting comments ( _"Oh come on, you can do better than that! It's childbirth not rocket science, honestly."_ sprang to mind) but no - here he was, in the thick of it, helping in whatever little way he could.  
  
"Next time you get a contraction I want you to go with it, bare down onto your bottom okay? Push when you get the urge." He told Amy in his most controlled doctorly tone, trying not to show in his voice that he was just as terrified as she was.   
"Oh god! Oh hell it hurts!" She screeched, and it occured to John that the people on either floor two or floor three might hear her - though he was certain they were already working as hard as they could on getting the hospital back on track.  
"And push." He ordered her gently. She whimpered and gave a pathetic attempt at a push. "Come on Amy, you can do this, a bit more force."  
"I don't want to hurt it." She mumured, grinding the back of her head into the floor.  
"Trust me, babies were designed for this, you won't hurt your baby." He promised "Next time, hard as you can, yeah?" He waited with bated breath for her next contraction which arrived with a howl (and a wince from Sherlock).  
  
"You're crowning Amy, your baby's coming, you're doing brilliantly." John knew how unhelpful his words probably were when Amy was obviously this far gone but they were all he had. He couldn't tell her what he was actually thinking (that he never ever wanted to have sex with a woman ever again - he'd done this once before and it had put him off for 6 months.). Another push saw the baby's head begin to make an appearance.  
"Brilliant, facing upwards, you're doing great." He reassured her, however as the baby's head came out he noticed something that made his heart stutter.  
  
"Oh fuck!" John was unable to keep the panic from his voice this time.  
"What! What's wrong!?" Amy pleaded at the top of her lungs.  
"Stop pushing a minute." John ordered, trying to assess this with a level head. "The cord's round its neck."  
"Oh god oh god it's going to die, don't let it die please oh god!"  
"It's not going to die!" John swore. "But you NEED to stop pushing while I get it untangled okay? Promise me!" She whimpered and nodded as John struggled to fit his fingers under the thick and deceptively strong cord which was strangling the tiny child the further it progressed into the world.   
  
John swore loudly, even in the dim light he could see the baby was going slightly blue.  
"John?" Sherlock questioned, worriedly. John refused to look at them, to deviate his attention even for a split second, he would not lose this one, he started to plead in his own head, to bargain with a God he'd lost faith in while he was in Afghanistan. **Anything. Anyone else. Not this one. Not a newborn baby. Please.** He begged as he finally tugged the ring of the cord over the baby's face. It made a pained choked noise and started gasping for breath, gulping in the fresh air desperately.   
"Okay okay it's fine, breathing on its own, one more push to free the shoulders." John urged, Amy was sobbing as she convulsed with a final contraction and the baby slid into John's palms with a loud cry.   
  
It was bloody and slimey as all newborns are, but the colour had returned to its face and it was howling with loud and healthy lungs.  
"It's a girl Amy, a girl." John told her cheerily, fumbling for his pen knife and knotting the cord before cutting it. He wrapped the tiny infant into his jacket and leaned over to hand the baby to her mother, and saw immediately that there was something very very wrong, Amy's pupils were blown and the flush to her face was fading rapidly. Her head lolled dramatically to the side as she lost consciousness. John bundled the baby with little grace into Sherlock's outstretched arms.  
"What's happening, what's wrong?"  
"She's haemorrhaging - massively." John breathed, unable to calm down as the normal blood flow that accompanies the delivery of the placenta was at least tripled, gushing freely. "The placenta's not separated properly, it's ruptured somewhere... fuck." John growled.  
  
"This shouldn't be happening!" He stressed, massaging her abdomen in an attempt to cause a contraction to stop the blood flow. It was no good, she was losing too much blood. "I've never even seen one of these on telly!" He despaired. "I don't know what to do! She needs emergency medical treatment NOW or she's going to... she's..." John sat back on his heels, staring at the rapidly expanding pool of blood.  
"Is there anything you can do?" Sherlock asked. John shook his head, hands still on her abdomen his whole body trembling as he willed her to contract. He knew in the back of his head, she was losing too much blood, that nobody could survive this for any sustained period of time.  
"No... unless this lift starts moving within the next thirty seconds or so..." Sherlock grunted as he dragged Amy up, propping her against the wall using the one arm that was not cradling the tiny baby. Sherlock held Amy's arms together and placed the infant on them.  
  
John had never felt so helpless, watching as the life drained from Amy. Only a few minutes later, Sherlock placed his fingers to her wrist and shook his head very gently. She was gone. Sherlock plucked the child back from her arms. Amy hadn't really been holding her, Sherlock had been holding her to her chest, but it was all the same in the end, she had died with her child in her arms. John felt his eyes well with tears and he lay his head in his bloody hands.  
  
He'd never cried in front of Sherlock, not once, but even the detective seemed to understand that under the circumstances a little emotion was not out of place.  
"We can't save them all John." He said eventually, in an oddly soothing tone. "You did your absolute best... likely she was dehydrated from being in here for three hours... or unknowingly anaemic... you couldn't have predicted a haemorrhage, not on this scale certainly... even if you could have predicted it, there was no saving her in here under these circumstances." John knew Sherlock was making sense, but it didn't make it hurt any less. John had lost patients before, in battle, in the aftermath, he'd had people bleed out on him before but none of it seemed so tragic as a young widow dying in childbirth, leaving her newborn baby an orphan before she'd even opened her eyes.  
  
John's heart hurt. He could hear the baby crying and finally drew his eyes up to where Sherlock was kneeling, cradling the little girl in his arms, gently daubing her skin with the jacket of John's she was wrapped in. John had never seen Sherlock treat anything other than his violin with such tenderness, perhaps even emotionally stunted Sherlock Holmes realised the gravity of the situation, though his eyes were much drier than John's.   
  
He couldn't stop trembling, his entire body shuddering his line of vision kept falling to Amy who did not look peaceful in death, her hair tousled and sweaty, clinging to her deathly pale face, from the waist down she was covered in blood which had finally stopped pouring (no heartbeat to pulse it out). Sherlock followed his gaze and frowned softly. Sherlock had seen his fair share of death, but never in a situation like this. He clambered to his feet, careful not to drop the whimpering child in his arms, he manouevered John backwards and sat in front of him, blocking his view of Amy, surely only trying to help.   
"John, you did all you could." He said firmly to his blanched friend. "You saved Jay's life and you did your best for Amy." Jay. Oh yes. The baby had a name. John stared at her, Sherlock had wiped her mostly clean, her dark hair still sticking up at odd angles with drying amniotic fluid and blood.   
  
"Oh god." John groaned. "Sherlock she needs feeding... if this lift doesn't start working soon..."  
"She'll be fine for an hour or so and if worst comes to worst I'm fairly certain we can extract lactal fluid post-humously." John cringed slightly, he didn't like the sound of that but Sherlock was always practical. John shivered again and leaned forward, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock's arms were occupied, he could not offer any comfort to John physically other than his sheer presence.   
  
John lost track of how long they kneeled there, in an awkward three person huddle beside a dead body. Jay sobbed her little heart out, obviously she was unaware of the situation but all John could hear was a baby, crying for a mother that would never come and he teared up again a few times. Sherlock appeared to be very deep in thought and only moved when the lights above flickered into life.  
"Hello, lift 3 any occupants?" Came a crackly voice over the intercom. Sherlock got to his feet and made his way to the emergency call button, he heard a gasp as the CCTV came back online. "What happened!?" Came the voice once more.  
"Death during childbirth, we've got a dead woman, a neglected newborn and a man in a state of shock." Sherlock reeled off, pressing the button as he spoke. It took John a moment to realise the man in shock was himself.  
"Oh god, right well we're back online, if you press floor three we'll have a team to meet you when you come out." Sherlock pressed 3 and the lift clattered to life, bringing them back up to maternity.  
  
"John." Sherlock said, dragging the doctor to his feet with his injured arm. "John listen to me." Sherlock urged, because all John could hear was Sherlock's voice and white noise. "I'm about to lie through my teeth, no matter how insane I sound I NEED you to back me up, got it?" John nodded stiffly, staring numbly down at himself in the newly accquired light, he was covered in blood that was not his own. Oh god.  
  
The medical team swooped in as soon as the doors opened, swarming over Amy, confirming the tragic truth that she was dead but still attempting resuscitation that would never work. Sherlock did not hand Jay over, but he followed the medics away from the lift and into a side room, taking John's hand and tugging him along behind.  
"Okay so, who are you?" A very frantic looking nurse asked, trying desperately to get a peek at the child, who Sherlock was concealing quite well.   
"I'm Sherlock, this is John." Sherlock said, John was dimly aware of Sherlock's hand in his, it felt warm, safe, grounding but Sherlock was not relinquishing his hold on Jay, squirming and wailing in his arm.  
"And which one of you is the father?" She asked.  
"Well, neither of us and both of us." Sherlock replied quickly. "We're the adoptive parents." It was a mark of just how frazzled John was that he didn't panic or kick off or demand to know what the hell Sherlock was playing at, he just stared blankly at the orphaned baby in Sherlock's embrace.


	2. That's not how adoption works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes his intentions clear and both the Holmes brothers are manipulative prats

  
  
"Okay, that's fine but we really need to check the baby over now, Sherlock." The nurse said kindly. "And your boyfriend looks like he could do with a strong cup of tea..." She added, glancing at John, vacant and distant.   
"She was deprived of oxygen for a little while during the birth. Less than a minute. Felt like longer." Sherlock said tentatively, bobbing Jay carefully. "Will she be okay?"  
"Well I can't really answer that until I've had a look, I know you've had quite an ordeal but I promise you we'll take good care of her." She swore, placing her hand on her heart. Sherlock did not look certain but reluctantly handed Jay over to the nurse. "Someone will be in momentarily to check you two over. I'm so sorry for your loss." Her voice was genuinely sweet but the moment that she left John felt a great weight lift off his shoulders and he collapsed into a chair, exhausted. The hospital ward was too bright and very noisy, they were in a little side room on the maternity ward and John could hear babies howling and the agonizing screams of women in labour.  
  
Sherlock was tapping away at his phone hurriedly, one hand on John's shoulder.   
"What... what was that all about?" John asked him, his tone soft and bewildered. Sherlock squeezed his shoulder gently.   
"They won't let us stay and find out how she is unless we're direct relatives. Listen I'm going to sneak out for a cigarette and I need to make a phone call, don't answer any of their questions until I come back, okay?" Sherlock said firmly, John could only nod briefly in response, dimly conscious of the fact Sherlock was leaving him. Sherlock hesitated before bending down and placing a kiss on John's forehead, which was odd, but all in all it was not the weirdest thing of the day, then he left the room.  
  
John didn't need to have been told not to answer any questions, he could barely remember his own name, his voice stuck in his throat as a midwife, not used to dealing with this sort of thing, scrubbed John's hands and forearms and wiped the blood from his skin. He could hear the man talking but it was all going in one ear and out the other, a faint buzzing where words should be.   
"Right, sorry about that, gagging for a fag - you know how it is." Sherlock said, noting the severe nicotine staining on the midwife's fingers as he swept dramatically back into the room. "Did promise I'd quit when the baby arrived but... well. It's been a long day." He admitted, feigning sheepishness. At the mention of the baby, John felt the world suddenly swim back in to harsh focus. Baby, right.  
  
"How is she? Jay?" He asked the midwife who was sponging at his forehead now - how on earth had John managed to get blood on his face for goodness sake?  
"That's a lovely name. They've given her a bath and some formula." He told him gently. "It doesn't look like the oxygen deprivation did any permanent damage. They want to keep her in overnight for obs."   
"Understandable." Sherlock agreed, still tip-tapping at the keys on his phone. John nodded slowly. Oxygen deprivation? Oh right the cord round her neck... god that seemed like forever ago. According to the clock ticking merrily onward on the wall it was just after midnight. Had it really only been four hours ago that his biggest problem was Sherlock's stitches?  
  
"They'll want to ask you some questions." The midwife, whose name-tag read 'Dylan' explained.  
"We'll answer them in the morning, I think we've really had enough for one night." Sherlock fronted genuinely. John nodded wearily in agreement, the last thing he needed right now was to recount it all.   
"Given the situation and the fact we have a free room here - slow night tonight, we're happy to let you two spend the night here, unless you want to go to A&E?" Dylan queried. John shook his head. No. No more bloody elevators and he didn't trust his legs on the stairs. He glanced longingly at the bed. "Okay, I'll bring Jay down to see you in an hour or so if either of you are still awake." He said kindly, and slipped out the door.  
  
"They're not going to be happy when they find out we're not actually her parents." John mumbled, all but crawling into the bed, it was only a single bed, designed for giving birth on but John didn't care right now, he didn't mind the sticky plastic hospital issue sheets or the too-hard pillows. He wanted his head to stop buzzing and sleep seemed like the best option.  
"Ah yes, well... about that... we're keeping her." Sherlock said bluntly. John chuckled and buried his cheek into the pillow.  
"Don't be daft." He mumbled.  
"I'm serious." Sherlock said with a nod. John frowned, he was not up for Sherlock's nonsense right now, but this was the sort of thing he couldn't just go to sleep and ignore, Sherlock's face was completely straight.  
"Sherlock... she's not ours." John said gently.  
"She will be. We're adopting her." He explained, speaking as though John was being slow deliberately.  
"Sherlock, that's not how adoption works! You can't just decide you're having a baby and waltz out of the hospital with one!" He groaned.  
  
"I know, Mycroft's falsifying the documents as we speak. We applied for an open adoption five and a half months ago, shortly after Amy's husband died. We intended to give her full maternal rights and we were just family friends who were offering to help out, with us as the primary caregivers and Amy able to come and go as she pleased." John gripped the bridge of his nose and gave a heavy sigh.  
"Sherlock, look it's a nice idea but..." He tried to keep his voice level, because honestly his best friend was a complete crackpot, it was after midnight, it had been the day from hell and John really really wasn't up for an argument.  
"But nothing." Sherlock's tone was icy. "She did not want that child in the foster care system."  
"The foster care system's REALLY not that bad. Plus she's a newborn and she's gorgeous, she'll be adopted in next to no time." Sherlock bowed his head for a moment, eyes darkened with something John couldn't name.  
  
"I won't allow it." Sherlock growled lowly.  
"Sherlock, you and I can't raise a baby!" John said, realising just how serious Sherlock was about this. "I know you're trying to help and... it's really sweet that you care but babies need time and attention you have to get up every three hours to change and feed them..."  
"I rarely sleep anyway." Sherlock said batting his hand.  
"They also need love and care." John continued, feeling a bit like a father already, trying to explain to a toddler why they could not have a puppy.  
"Which I admit is not my strong suit, however I believe you are more than capable in that department." Sherlock said in a complimentary tone.  
"Uh... thanks I think? That's not the point, Sherlock." John propped himself up onto his elbow to look at Sherlock who looked resolutely determined. "Our lifestyle... it isn't really compatible with raising a child."  
  
"I understand that. I have informed Lestrade that if there is any element of weaponry involved in a case then I shan't take it, though I didn't explain why yet." Sherlock's tone was grim, as though he really did not like the idea of having to take on less dangerous/exciting cases, but he was certain there would be interesting cold cases, and fantastic puzzles in non-murderous scenarios.  
"It's not just the danger Sherlock, you can't have decomposing heads next to the baby formula!" John scolded.  
"All unsanitary experiments will be restricted to the lab at St. Bart's." Sherlock reassured him. John groaned, bloody bastard had thought of everything. "She already told us she didn't have any family, nor did her husband. I had Mycroft run a check, the closest living relative is an elderly second cousin in Australia who's never heard of them. They have no close friends, she'd pretty much isolated herself after the death of her husband. There is nobody else to take the baby."   
  
John sat up properly to survey Sherlock, still looking quietly determined.  
"Sherlock this is madness okay? We're not actually a couple and I don't think either of us are capable of raising a child..."  
"Is it the prospect of being seen as a gay couple that's putting you off?" Sherlock queried curiously, an eyebrow raised.  
"No. It's the prospect of being in charge of _an_ _actual human being_ that's putting me off." He answered honestly. "Look, I know what you're trying to do and your heart's in the right place but... she'll find a home Sherlock. She'll be taken in and loved by a proper family, somewhere safe and stable. Kids need stability and we're anything but..."  
"I can be stable." Sherlock swore, looking at John desperately. John shook his head.   
  
"No, Sherlock. It's a no. Tomorrow we're going to tell the truth and say goodbye to that little girl and wish her the best of luck, okay? Right now we just need to sleep. You'll feel differently tomorrow when the adrenaline's died down." He tried to keep his voice calm and solid because really, Sherlock was breaking his heart. Sherlock didn't always understand how the world worked, and obviously didn't see that raising a baby with your straight flatmate was not really doable alongside running around London shooting criminals.  
"And if I don't?" Sherlock asked as John lay his head back onto the pillow.  
"We'll talk tomorrow." John yawned. Sherlock quietly agreed that yes, they would talk tomorrow. John evidently needed to sleep on it.  
  
\---------------------  
  
When John woke up there was a quiet moment where he'd forgotten it all, only for reality to seep in at every corner when he opened his eyes to see Sherlock striding round the room with a baby in his arms.  
"Morning." John yawned.  
"Yes, morning." Sherlock said absently. John forced himself to sit up, he felt stale and dirty in yesterday's clothes.   
"Mycroft doesn't think he can do this without your consent." Sherlock stressed. "With my track history, death drugs etcetera, an adoption request filed in my name only would never have been approved... if anybody goes digging they'll realise something's wrong." He said, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. John blinked, remembering the previous night's conversation. Oh right, yeah. Sherlock wanted them to pretend to be a gay couple and adopt an orphaned child from a dead woman they didn't know from Eve.  
  
"I know that you don't want to do this, John." Sherlock began.  
"You can say that again." Sherlock cocked his head in confusion.   
"I know that you don't want to do this, John." Sherlock repeated, a little uncertainly. John hated when Sherlock accidentally took him literally - it was always such a huge reminder that his brain was wired up differently. "But I can't do this on my own. If you want no part in caring for her then that's fine but I am asking you as a friend to sign these papers with me." He pleaded, and goddamnit how could a grown man look so pitiful? John assumed the addition of an infant in his arms was a long way towards it.  
  
"Sherlock no, you can't use the 'I'm asking as a friend' bit on this one. You can ask me as a friend to let you borrow my laptop, you can ask me as a friend to pick up milk on my way home, you can't ask me as a friend to help you illegally adopt a child!" John told him firmly. Sherlock looked momentarily put out, he shook his head, curls flying everywhere.  
"I'll have to change my story then... Molly. Molly would help." He mumbled distractedly, balancing Jay in one arm while going for his phone.  
  
"No, you're not dragging Molly into this." John warned him, because lovely soppy Molly was just in love enough with Sherlock to agree to this mental plan.  
"Then who, John!?" Sherlock demanded, eyes flashing maliciously. "My best friend won't help me, the police are already starting to ask questions - who else can I turn to, John?" He asked and John felt a shiver run up and down his spine at the intensity in Sherlock's gaze.  
"Sherlock, it's not about us... it's about giving that little girl." He indicated to the baby, apparently fast asleep. "A proper home."  
"221B Baker Street is the first place I have ever felt truly at home. It can be just as much a home for her as it is for me. Just... just sign the papers with me. In a month or so we can stage a break up and I'll take full custody, I swear. I'd prefer to raise her together but you don't have to have anything to do with her if you don't want to." Sherlock's voice was low and soft, he sounded genuinely hurt and John sighed. Sherlock was a complete nutter, absolutely bonkers, totally without marbles.  
  
Sherlock sat on the end of John's bed, with Jay curled against his chest.  
"You honestly think we're capable of raising a child?" John asked gently, shuffling closer to take a look. All cleaned up and dressed, Jay looked quite sweet, her hair was either very dark brown or black and even cleaned it stuck up in odd spikes, surprisingly thick for a newborn, her eyes were shut serenely, not screwed up.   
"I was up with her all night, the midwife brought her in... I gave her a bottle and changed her nappy twice. So yes, I think so." He mumbled awkwardly.  
  
"What about when she's five and she asks us why the other children in school have a mummy and a daddy?" John had said a key word. 'Us'. Sherlock gulped and dared to hope.  
"We explain to her that sometimes men love women and sometimes men love other men..." Sherlock said hopefully, that sounded about right.  
"What about when she's ten and wants to wear make up?" John pitched.  
"We explain to her that sometimes women have low self esteem and wear make up to make them feel better or look sexually attractive to other men... or women. We tell her she can wear it when she's older." Well... Sherlock got that one half right.  
"And when she's fifteen and hates the world, and both of us, and wants to stay out all night with boys?"  
"I dig up their criminal records and show her what utter wastes of space the boys undoubtedly are?" Sherlock ventured, John looked pointedly at him. Bzzt. Wrong apparently. "Boys are your department." Sherlock decided, stroking Jay's hair gently.  
  
John frowned, he didn't know why he was even considering this - Sherlock was off his rocker, but he was determined if nothing else. John reached over and placed his finger in Jay's palm, even asleep she instinctively gripped onto it with a startling amount of strength.   
"If sentimental appeals are more persuasive, I'm sure Amy would have preferred you have her than anybody else... you comforted her during the worst pain of her life, you brought Jay into the world and saved her life and you grieved when Amy slipped away." Sherlock pushed.  
"Yeah yeah alright, stop with the emotional blackmail." John grumbled. "Where would she even stay, Sherlock? We don't have room for a nursery." He attempted, knowing his protests were becoming thinner and thinner.  
"They stay in the same room as their parents for the first six to twelve months or so anyway, I have space for a cot in my bedroom..." Sherlock answered quickly.  
"A baby is expensive..." John started but was cut off immediately.  
"Not a problem, I have a rather sizeable inheritance... to be fair Mycroft controls it which is why I rarely access it but this seems an appropriate use of my funds."   
  
"What does Mycroft have to say about all this anyway? I mean I know he's willing to forge documents and stuff but really..."  
"He... does not approve of me doing it alone." Sherlock admitted. "But if you choose to be involved, Mycroft gives us his full blessing." Again with the gentle pushing, and John was on a dangerous precipice as it was. "John... I wouldn't choose just anybody to raise a child with. I wouldn't ask unless I knew you would be an amazing father." Damn the backhanded compliments were out to play. Manipulative mad man.  
"What if we get caught?" John asked weakly.  
"Mycroft can have all the applications backdated, as far as the law is concerned it will all be above board. She had nobody in her life to protest it and she was quiet during all her midwife appointments." John frowned and stared at the tiny child, still uncertain as to whether this was a brilliant idea or a terrible one.  
  
"Why are you so against her going into the system... you've never shown any paternal tendencies, I didn't think you wanted kids... do you even like kids?"  
"That's... a lot of questions." Sherlock said with a deep frown as Jay's eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes were disturbingly bright blue and even though John knew newborns could not see very well she seemed to be hyper aware of her surroundings. "I like children... it's adults that annoy me. Children ask the difficult questions, children aren't afraid of life and death and inevitability. Though I never thought I'd have any of my own... I do quite like children."   
  
Jay tightened her tiny fist around John's finger.  
"Look at her Sherlock, she's stunning. She'd be adopted straight away..."  
"You don't know that. She could be left in the system for months, years even. She's young enough not to know now but if she's in the foster care system during her formative years she'll end up with serious psychological damage, more-so than I could inflict I'm sure... Amy didn't like foster care, nor did her husband..." Sherlock paused, really not wanting to admit to this. He'd never mentioned it. "And neither did I."  
"You were adopted?" Sherlock shook his head. "In foster care?" John asked incredulously, Sherlock took a sudden interest in the fabric of Jay's baby-grow, apparently the subject was not open for discussion.  
  
"Hi." Said a voice, and Dylan the midwife had popped his head around the door. "You have a visitor."   
"Oh?" John queried, wondering who knew they were here. Dylan stood back and Mycroft appeared in the doorway.  
"I'll leave you to it, but the police still want a word." Dylan told them before vanishing once more. John felt Mycroft's gaze squarely on him.  
"Tick tock, Sherlock." Mycroft said, sitting elegantly in the stiff armchair by the bed. "It's all sorted, just needs a signature from each of you and a click of a button for all the appropriate paperwork to be in place." Sherlock glanced hopelessly from Jay to John.  
"I... John didn't exactly agree..." Sherlock trailed off, frowning under the scrutinizing look his brother was sending him.  
  
"You didn't get his permission before you decided to adopt a child together. You never do get permission when it matters." Mycroft said sternly. "Sherlock, even with the best intentions in the world I cannot with good conscience sign over a child in to your sole care. You know what you're like, as half of a parental unit you may just suffice but on your own you are not capable of providing the kind of affection and care needed to raise a baby." And something snapped - John felt a sudden well of anger directed at Mycroft, because Sherlock was trying, in a very messed up bizarre way, but he was trying - and being insulted like that was not in any way helpful. Accusing Sherlock of being inappropriate was one thing but to outright tell his younger brother that he was incapable of love? That was just cruel. John thought he saw Sherlock's grip tighten ever so slightly around Jay and felt a surge of affection for the eccentric creature that was Sherlock Holmes.  
  
Jay surely didn't have a clue what was being said, but began to whimper.  
"Sherlock... hand her over to the appropriate authorities, for her own sake. It really is kinder..." He trailed off and Sherlock's grip definitely tightened. John frowned. People insulted Sherlock all the time, told him he was weird or a freak, Sherlock never reacted this badly, never visibly showed he was affected. Perhaps Mycroft's words had hit too close to the bone. It was sheer madness, a fury that the world always told Sherlock who he was and what he was capable of, that drove John to speak.  
"Where do we sign?" He asked, without a waiver in his voice. Sherlock's head snapped up to look at John, who nodded softly. He'd evidently lost his mind but...  
  
"Ah." Mycroft said with a small smile, and John got the sudden nasty feeling that Mycroft had manipulated the situation just to provoke that response from John. Bloody Holmes brothers. He pulled a tablet out of his briefcase and handed it to John, who scanned the page then picked up the tablet pen. He glanced once more at Jay, then at Sherlock, still wide eyed with surprise, before scrawling 'John Hamish Watson' onto a dotted line. Sherlock carefully swapped Jay for the tablet, letting John hold the baby girl properly for the first time as he signed his own loopy signature onto a separate line. They watched the screen as it triplicated the signatures and attached them to the appropriate places before Sherlock handed it back. Mycroft pressed a few buttons, received an email on his blackberry, responded, received another email then nodded.  
  
"Well, according to all known records your application to adopt the unborn child of Amy and Jay MacDonald was approved four months ago. Congratulations, you just became parents." Mycroft simpered, still smiling blandly. John gulped, people did not just become parents overnight with the flick of a switch, nobody just wound up with a daughter in their arms without having impregnated anybody or spending months and years going through mountains of criminal background checks and adoption processes. People normally had time to adjust to the arrival of a child. Things like this didn't happen to normal people, but then again - they were hardly normal people. As he looked at the baby - now his daughter, John felt oddly unafraid of it all.   
"Thank you." Sherlock whispered softly, John could only nod mutely in response. It had been the weirdest 24 hours of his life, and that was saying something.  
  
"Technically Jay has inherited all of Ms MacDonald's belongings, there's no property involved but a rented flat full of possessions, my people will be bringing some necessary essentials over to 221b while you're liaising with the police but it will be your job as carers to sort through her belongings."  
"It's a bloody good job Mrs Hudson's away til Thursday... not sure how well she'd react to the British Government showing up with prams and cots..." Sherlock seemed to approve of the mental image John provided, because he was unable to suppress a smirk.  
"I have the rest covered. You'll find your phone records have been modified accordingly." Mycroft spoke as though he was giving them a mission. John flicked out his mobile phone and sure enough there were some calls to and from an 'Amy M' in his history list.   
"You're a scary bastard, you know that Mycroft?" John ventured. Mycroft smiled thinly.  
"And you've met my brother." Mycroft stood.  
  
"You've also been booked three weeks off of work at the surgery, your boss is furious that the uh 'dozy' I believe was the word she used, secretary didn't tell her beforehand." Mycroft added helpfully, John nodded and glanced at the clock, 12 noon... damn he'd been asleep a long while. He was glad someone had called Sarah and let her know.  
"Yeah, thanks."  
"Very well, I'll check on you in a couple of days and good luck." And with that he swept from the room in Sherlock's usual dramatic fashion.  
  
The next few hours were spent in a blur of police liaison officers, calls from therapists and funeral homes, John had to recount the tale (a slightly modified version of the truth, but mostly the truth) over and over until he was fed up of hearing it. It sounded like a bad soap opera plot-line. When they were finally let go, John was sick to the back teeth of all the pitying looks they were given. Sherlock had been allowed in all his interviews, as had he with Sherlock's and they had seamlessly fabricated an entire relationship as close to the truth as possible, playing on what had been in the papers and so on. All the background checks and records (which the liaison officer was embarrassed to admit he hadn't been able to find earlier that morning, but had mysteriously showed up when he ran a second search that afternoon) came back clean (though John's ASBO had unfortunately not been wiped from his record) and they were sent home with telephone numbers of who to contact vis-à-vis funerals and counselling.   
  
Stepping out into the bright sunlight of the afternoon, John was suddenly hit with a realisation.  
"Wait, how are we even going to get her home - we don't have a booster seat, she can't go in a cab without one, it's a hell of a walk and your shoulder's still..."  
"When Mycroft said he had it covered." Sherlock said, indicating a large black limo in the hospital car park.   
"Oh god." John groaned. "That's one for the baby book - baby's first taxi." He said sarcastically. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
"Babies require books? Is there a manual I'm supposed to have read or..."  
"I... you know what never mind." John shook his head, this was going to be interesting. Sherlock had Jay, he'd barely let her go since she was born, he struggled a little getting her into the booster seat, faffing over which straps went where. It was somewhat endearing actually, watching normally put together Sherlock fussing over a few safety catches. John leaned over and clicked the fork-connector into place. Sherlock frowned.  
"I... may have a lot to learn." He admitted. John sighed once more.  
"You and me both, mate."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: ...Sherlock and John... have a baby!? What... I don't even... gah reviews would be nice but don't send me hate about adoption procedures and stuff I KNOW it's a long and arduous process but Mycroft's the British bloody Government and if anybody can pull all that claptrap nonsense above off he can!


	3. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock bring the baby home and introduce her to their friends. Sherlock's not good with children's toys and John is not good with flat pack furniture.

  
Returning to Baker Street John felt it had been an eternity since he'd been home, and was slightly stunned at the sight that met his eyes.  
"When Mycroft said a few 'necessary essentials'..." He said cautiously, looking at the living room which appeared to be the epicentre of an explosion at Mothercare, everywhere he looked there were bits of dismantled cot and mobiles, a pile of wood that looked like it could be a wardrobe, boxes of Pampers and crates of baby wipes as well as a mountain of baby formula standing against the fire place.  
"Ah..." Sherlock agreed, the booster seat containing Jay dangling from his good arm. "Well... how are you with flat pack furniture?" He queried, settling the seat in front of the washing machine in the kitchen - the only area on their floor not occupied with 'necessary essentials'.  
  
As it turned out John was a bit not good with flat pack furniture.... well, not very good at all actually.  
"Oh for fuck's sake!" He complained trying to affix the headboard to the cot after a well earned cup of tea and a biscuit, and a quick shower and change of clothes. "' _Some assembly required_ ' my arse! When I was in my twenties, flat pack furniture just required a hammer and two bits of wood and ta-da you had a new china cabinet, this... for this you need a degree in physics, a foreign language accreditation and a bloody city and guilds certificate! **And** a million and one fucking pins NONE of which are the right bloody size..." He growled overusing the term 'bloody' in a subconscious reference to his thumb, pricked when he tugged one of the pins from the incorrect slot.  
  
Sherlock for the most part was not being particularly helpful, occasionally pointing out the inaccuracies in the Swedish translation from the instructions, and surveying some of the cuddly toys with a critical eye.  
"What breed of bear is this even supposed to be?" He asked, tipping it upside down. "Definitely the colouring of a standard grizzly but the proportions are way off... it almost looks like it was designed to walk predominantly bipedally." He frowned, unable to make sense of it.  
  
"Sherlock." John said exasperatedly, removing the screwdriver from his mouth. "I really don't think toys designed for children have to be anatomically correct."  
"I can understand why they'd omit the genitals for the sake of decency but why on earth is it necessary to dumb down the basic aesthetics..." He continued, frowning with his whole face furrowed in absolute confusion, still examining the bear.  
"Oh just give it a rest, would you? Do something useful." John said, waving Sherlock away just as Jay began screaming. Good timing.  
"Ah yes, useful." Sherlock leapt up and rushed into the kitchen. John's frustrating task of putting the crib together was not aided by a screaming baby, who Sherlock struggled to quieten, even after changing her nappy and offering her a bottle.  
  
"I don't understand... she's clean, she's not hungry... why is she crying?" Sherlock wondered aloud, becoming irritated by her screeching.  
"I don't bloody know do I?" John grumbled, sucking his thumb where he'd hit it with the hammer, re-opening the wound. "She's probably tired."  
"She slept most of the morning though..."  
"That's what babies do Sherlock, they cry, they sleep, they eat - then they sick it up, they sleep, they fill their nappies then they sleep some more. Gotchya you bastard!" He cheered the last bit, finally slotting the headboard into place.   
"We should probably work on your language..." Sherlock mused, bobbing Jay gently over his shoulder, which didn't stop her crying but resulted in an odd wobbly sound to it.  
"Sherlock she's 16 hours old... she doesn't give a damn about language yet okay." He said, standing up and balancing the half built cot against the sofa to work on the foot-board.  
"Still... I'm to understand they're very easily influenced."  
"Yes, yes, okay. I'll cut down on the swearing when I've got this fucking cot together..." He fumed, finding the foot-board just as infuriating as the headboard. Sherlock shrugged, rubbing Jay's back softly to try quell her wailing.  
  
"It's a good thing Mrs Hudson's hearing isn't what it used to be, this would drive her round the bend in a couple of weeks." Sherlock mused. John was busy trying to force the sliding side of the cot into place and only grunted in response. "Though I do think she'll be rather fond of her... might make for a convenient babysitter..." he continued, holding Jay at arm's length and frowning at her. "Why won't you be quiet?" He demanded.  
"Sherlock, you can't just tell a baby to be quiet, that's not how it works." John said sternly.   
"When she gets a little older I'll calmly explain to her that this sort of racket just isn't acceptable behaviour." John rubbed the bridge of his nose, Sherlock may like children but he had even less of an understanding of how they worked than he did of adults.  
"Yeah, good luck with that one." He forced the panel a little harder than he ought to have but it gave a resounding CLICK of approval.   
  
"Done! One cot." He announced proudly, stepping back to survey his handiwork before realising he had one of the bars still in his hand... what? He glanced at the cot, all bars firmly in place before giving a shrug and tossing the spare part over his shoulder.  
"Excellent. Now for the wardrobe." Sherlock said over Jay's incessant screaming.  
"Fuck off," John said firmly, collapsing onto the sofa.   
"Definitely need to work on the language." Sherlock chided but John was too exhausted to bother telling him where he could stick his language. Adding to the din, Sherlock's phone began to ring. "Lestrade's calling, presumably about last night's text... I'll deal with him later, if this one ever stops crying."   
"Oh god yeah, Lestrade..." John realised as it suddenly hit him.  
  
"Sherlock what are we going to tell our friends?"  
"The same as we told the hospital that Amy was a family friend of mine and..." Sherlock started, fully prepared to launch into their well-rehearsed story.  
"Yes yes I know that bit!" John cut in, stopping him before he could get into his stride. "I meant the whole... us being a couple thing? Our friends know us they know we're not..."  
"Our so called friends have had their aspersions about our private lives since day one." Sherlock informed him. "Us being a 'couple' in the conventional sense will not come as a surprise to anybody... in fact Mrs Hudson told me fairly recently that I ought to put a ring on your finger to stop you 'dilly-dallying with those dozy women'." The smirk that graced Sherlock's face was very unbecoming.  
"Great so the whole world thinks I'm gay?" John groaned. "You do realise this is going to make getting a girlfriend an absolute nightmare?" Sherlock shrugged, this was not his concern right now, still trying in vain to shush Jay, who was now red in the face from crying at full volume.   
  
"Oh god, Harry!" John said suddenly. "She's actually going to kill me..." He drew his hand down over his face with a groan.  
"For adopting a baby, I fail to see how that could invoke anger..."  
"No, she'll **love** the fact I've adopted a baby, she's going to kill me for not 'coming out' to her even when I was asked a million times if we were together." He paused. "Oh god everybody DID think we were together." He sighed and picked up his mobile. "I better call her and explain can you _please_ shut her up?"  
"I am trying!" Sherlock snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Listen, small person." He started, very seriously, and John couldn't help it, he laughed and not a little chuckle or a sly giggle, a full on, doubled over, belly laugh. Sherlock trying to reason with a screaming child was just the icing on the weirdness cake of their life. Sherlock blushed. "If it's so easy, you do it!" Sherlock argued, handing Jay over to John who took her, still in the tail end of a laugh.  
  
"Okay okay, shhh now." John comforted her, reverting to the tone most adults adopted when talking to a baby. "Come on then, what's there to cry about, eh?" He soothed, wiping her tears away with his thumb, suddenly struck by how tiny she was. Of course, she had a lot to cry about, really - but she didn't know that. She hiccuped and her crying slowed to a sniffle.  
"I thought you said you can't just tell them..." Sherlock observed, leaning over the back of the sofa to peer at her in fascination.   
"Well you can't, but talking softly and just paying her attention works... Look see, she's just tired like I said." John said, nodding to Jay who was giving a yawn her very best shot. "We'll move the crib into the bedroom later." John did not specify which bedroom. "She's fine to sleep in here for now, just don't be too loud." He warned Sherlock, clambering to his feet, rocking Jay a little as he stood and she slipped quite easily into sleep while Sherlock sorted out the bedding. He lay her in the crib and spent just a moment looking at her.  
  
She was rather beautiful, when she wasn't howling. The midwife had told him she was 6lb 7oz, a decent size apparently but it was still only bags of sugar in John's mind. Sherlock seemed to be staring at her with the same rapt attention, so John shook his head to snap out of it.  
"Right I'm going to call my sister you... just don't blow up the house okay?" He suggested, but Sherlock didn't move, still peeking into the crib in mild awe. John decided to take the phone call upstairs, away from the hubbub. Sherlock remained at the side of the cot for a few minutes, taking in Jay's physical features. Dark, spiky hair, pale skin, although closed, her eyes were currently blue but they were subject to change as the pigment developed, obviously.  
"Perhaps we should have got a dog first?" Sherlock mused, trailing his fingers over Jay's cheek, she felt soft and oddly fuzzy and Sherlock was reminded strongly of a peach. He could hear John shouting upstairs, the conversation with his sister evidently going swimmingly.  
  
Sherlock was itching to perform an experiment, even mould cultures or something basic, but he had promised and he couldn't exactly break a promise (not this soon, anyway). Yes, sacrifices would have to be made. When John eventually came down, half an hour later, Sherlock had for once in his life made a cup of tea.  
"What, we get a baby and you turn into a proper house-husband?" John queried, eyeing the tea suspiciously. "This one's not drugged, is it?"  
"No, it's not." Sherlock had been told his experimentation on John at Baskerville was very wrong, he did not need to be constantly reminded (even if he deemed it perfectly acceptable in the name of scientific discovery). "How's Harriet?"  
"Very annoyed." John sighed. "And good lord that woman can scream... think my ears may actually be bleeding. She wants to come for a visit..."  
"Ah." Sherlock said awkwardly, he'd met Harry Watson once and she'd been rather drunk and a bit too loud for Sherlock's liking, though her brash no-nonsense attitude and tendency to speak her mind had appealed to Sherlock's rebellious side, he had frankly gone off the woman when she had thrown up on his shoes.  
  
"I was thinking..." John started tentatively.  
"Always dangerous." Quipped Sherlock, sipping at his tea, fairly certain a visit from Harry was on the cards.   
"Well, when I was explaining this... situation to Harry it occurred to me that we're going to have to tell this story about fifty times over if we stop and explain it to Molly and Greg and Mrs Hudson and... everyone." He frowned, gesticulating vaguely at the room at large as though 'everyone' were present. "And well if we're going to 'come out' and introduce her and everything... we might as well do it all in one fell swoop."  
  
"Oh you don't mean a party?" Sherlock moaned, he hated parties, he barely tolerated their annual Christmas get together and always offended at least two people.  
"Just a bit of a get together on Thursday when Mrs Hudson gets back, it'll save time and energy in the long run... and we won't invite Anderson." John added. "Or Donovan, friends only." Sherlock scowled.  
"Oh at least let me have some fun, if you're going to force me to socialise you can at least invite Anderson so I'll have somebody to insult."  
"Fine, we WILL invite Anderson." John countered. Sherlock was still scowling into his tea.   
"Not that I'm an avid follower of the societal norms but is it really prudent to throw a party when a young woman is dead?"  
"No... it's not. But I really feel like after all that we need _something_ to celebrate." John answered honestly.  
"No alcohol." Sherlock said firmly. "Last time Lestrade got drunk and spent the entire night ogling Molly's breasts and then flirting with my brother..." He added sternly, then gave a small shudder at the thought of anybody flirting with Mycroft.  
"Deal. Thursday. No booze. Quiet get together, Anderson and Donovan welcome. Got it." John finalised, taking out his mobile and beginning to send texts, inviting people over for a gathering.   
  
"And none of your insipid ex-girlfriends." Sherlock grumbled, put out that he'd have to spend a night entertaining.   
"Not even Sarah, she is my boss..."  
"Not even Sarah." Sherlock demanded. "Unless you want to spend the entire evening explaining to her why you were trying to get into her knickers when you were supposedly beginning a relationship with me."  
"Ah... okay fair point." John had to concede defeat on this one, it would be awkward to try rationalise that. He'd have to tell her eventually but he was entitled to be a bit sketchy with the details and he wasn't in contact with most of his ex-girlfriends who had ironically left him because of his over attachment to Sherlock. Best not to think about that actually, people might think they were swingers or something.  
  
The first night with a baby was absolute hell. Even though Jay was in Sherlock's room and he was getting up to tend to her, John was woken each time she howled and his concern grew when she didn't immediately quieten, so he ended up wandering down at 3am to see what the matter was.  
"I can't get her to stop." Sherlock mumbled, pacing the room with her against his shoulder.  
"Fed her?"  
"Yes." Sherlock glared as though that was obvious.  
"Winded her?" John queried, rubbing his eyes.  
"Yes." Sherlock spat. "Believe it or not I do have a faint idea of what I'm doing." John didn't know who was crankier, Sherlock or Jay.  
"Changed her?"  
"Twice." He countered irritatedly. "If she's crying because she's tired why doesn't she just stop crying and sleep?" He complained, switching her to a cradle position and rocking her.  
  
"She doesn't understand what she needs Sherlock." John sighed. "Look you decided this is going to be our life from now on, okay? You're going to have to deal with sleepless nights and temper tantrums."  
"Mine or hers?" Sherlock asked. "Oh take her will you." He sighed and handed her over. "I'm no good at this." He said defeatedly and John could see the doubt in his eyes as he took over.  
"It's the first night, Sherlock. It will get easier, you will learn to tolerate it, honestly. People have babies all the time, stress, exhaustion, worry, doubt... it's all part and parcel I'm afraid." John told him, sitting down on the bed beside him, so close that their thighs were touching. It took John a good ten minutes and lots of baby talk and soft cooing to get her to stop crying, but she seemed to have no intention of going back to sleep, staring wide eyed up at them both.  
  
"I don't think she likes me." Sherlock said suddenly. "She only stops screaming when you hold her. This could be a problem."  
"Sherlock she's a day old, she doesn't like or dislike anybody at the moment. She will... eventually she will. I told you when you suggested this, babies need time and effort and that's from both of us, right? Look, go to sleep, get some rest. You've been up for pretty much three days straight, no wonder you're knackered." He said sympathetically. Sherlock shook his head.  
"I promised I'd do the night shifts..."  
"And for some mad reason I promised to raise a child with you. I'll pull my weight alright just... go to sleep." Sherlock looked very apprehensive, as though trying to judge whether John was plotting something. Suspicious bastard. "Doctor's orders, sleep." John insisted.   
"You know, prefacing something with 'doctor's orders' doesn't actually give it more weight." Sherlock told him but lay down on his bed over the covers, still eyeing John with extreme caution.   
  
John did a few laps of the room with Jay, aware of Sherlock's eyes on him.  
"I never asked you." Sherlock mumbled, half into his pillow as he was beginning to drift off. "Did you ever want children?" John paused, well, if they were going to be in a fake relationship, cohabit and raise a daughter, he might as well be honest.  
"No. I always thought that if I got a girl pregnant by accident I'd turn into the same waste of space my father was. My mum did brilliantly by me and Harry but... well, kids need two parents really and I never saw myself settling down with any of the girls I dated. Thought maybe I'd find _the one_ and she'd change my mind and we'd want kids but it never happened..." John sighed and stared at Jay, looking on with her innocent blue eyes and a less than attractive spit bubble at the corner of her mouth.   
"Not what you expected then?" Sherlock murmured sleepily.  
"Not exactly, no." John chuckled softly. "I'll walk her round the flat for a bit, maybe put the telly on in the other room or something. I'll bring her back in when she drops off, alright?" John said going for the door, and maybe it was the madness of sleep deprivation but Sherlock's next words were the sort of sentiment he loathed.  
  
"I think I made the right decision... choosing you." Sherlock said softly. John smiled faintly.  
"I bloody hope so, now go to sleep you prat." He said affectionately, before wandering into the living room with Jay.  
  
Thankfully the next night was a little easier, she still woke up screaming, as babies are prone to do but at least with a bit of sleep between the two of them Sherlock and John were not running on empty. The next night went almost as well, though Sherlock was still determined to attempt to reason with Jay, and it was no longer cute - it irked John (who had been on the phone to the funeral home half the evening) to the point he shouted at Sherlock, who shouted back and then Jay screamed and they both felt a little embarrassed and muttered dark apologies and went back to their respective beds. Then came Thursday.  
  
"Right so, we're agreed, you'll stay upstairs with Jay while I do the talking bit?" Sherlock nodded sulkily, disliking being relegated to hiding in a bedroom shortly before the guests started to arrive.   
"I can't guarantee she won't start screaming and ruin the surprise." He told John quite seriously.  
"Yes well, I'll just have to talk quickly then won't I? Lestrade text, Anderson's coming but Donovan's out of town." John added. Sherlock shrugged not really caring either way as a knock came to the door. "Right, off with you."  
"Yes, father." Sherlock grumbled sarkily, disappearing up the stairs and John hesitated only a minute to ponder what pronouns Jay would use when she started talking before going to answer the door. The living room had been cleared of all baby paraphernalia, the bin had been emptied of dirty nappies, to look at nobody would know the flat was occupied by anything other than two eccentric bachelors (one more eccentric than the other).  
  
Mrs Hudson was first to arrive, but then she'd had the least distance to travel. John made her a cuppa while Lestrade let himself in (followed suspiciously closely by Molly, John wondered if there was something going on there), Anderson seemed jittery - he was not used to being in 221b without legal reason. Mycroft strolled in fashionably late and Harry (who had been sworn to secrecy) rolled in when she felt like it.  
"That's... everyone then." John said counting heads. There were not really enough seats, John had pulled in the ones from the dining table, but Anderson was still leaning awkwardly against the fireplace and Molly seemed more than content to situate herself cross legged on the floor next to Harry's feet.  
"Everyone except Sherlock, dear." Mrs Hudson piped up.  
"Ah yeah well, he'll be here in a bit." John said, clapping his hands together and standing in the middle of the room, very conscious that everyone was staring at him, waiting for an explanation of why they'd been called here.   
"You've not killed him then? No one would blame you of course, only he's not been answering his phone all week and normally he doesn't shut up." Lestrade ventured. John smiled weakly.  
"It's been a bit of a long week." John admitted truthfully.  
  
Harry was positively beaming - thinking she was the only person in the room who knew what was coming, Mycroft looked mildly interested in John's dishevelled state but he could have been watching the weather for all the expression his face showed.  
"Right well uhm... Sherlock and I have had a bit of a change in circumstances." Although _a_ _bit_ was underplaying it really. "So we've decided to be a bit more honest and open..." He trailed off awkwardly, biting his lip. What was one more lie, eh?  
"Come on, John." Harry prompted loudly.  
"Okay, okay yes uh... well it's probably not going to come as a shock to many of you..." He mumbled awkwardly, because even though only Harry and Mycroft actually **knew** what was about to be said everybody was wearing the same slight smirk, anticipating John's next line. "Sherlock and I are together... like together together."  
"About bloody time you admitted it." Lestrade said with a wolfish grin, John refused to acknowledge the blush on his face but did take note of Anderson typing furiously on his phone.   
  
"We're really happy for you both." Mrs Hudson said, smiling with such genuine warmth John felt a little shameful for the lie.  
"Yeah... uhm well Anderson if you're texting Donovan you might want to wait a minute I'm not done explaining yet." John said, determined to change the subject. Molly looked a little forlorn behind her glee, smiling with just a bit of pain in her eyes. John felt bad for her. "We've uh... we've been together for a long while actually and..."  
"Oh good lord, you're engaged!" Lestrade guessed, looking simultaneously shocked and massively impressed.  
"No. No, we're not engaged." John said hurriedly, before anybody could start clapping. Good lord this was difficult. "We uh... well, five months ago we applied for adoption." Molly gasped, Lestrade's eyes widened and Mrs Hudson's grin spread wider. Anderson looked shell shocked, his hand had stopped moving over his phone's keyboard, too stunned to gossip.  
  
"We didn't want to say anything in case it all fell through." John continued. "Adoption usually takes years and stuff but... well Sherlock and Mycroft had this friend... Amy." John felt a sudden pain in his chest thinking about Amy, would she approve of all this rubbish? "She was widowed six months ago... she was twenty one, she was also three months pregnant." He ploughed on, best to get this over with quickly, everyone was silent, paying rapt attention to John, hanging on his every word. "She was struggling to cope and... well... she wanted her child, very very much. I've never seen someone so in love with their unborn baby." Mycroft raised an eyebrow, unsure why John was deviating but John would not feel right if they assumed the worst about her. John had complete faith that Amy would have been a brilliant mother.  
  
"It was a bit of a weird situation but Sherlock and Amy and I agreed on an open adoption... We'd look after her child primarily but she would retain full maternal rights. She could visit every day and be the child's mother. She seemed relieved really, that she wouldn't have to do it alone but she reserved the right to change her mind at any point." John thought this much at least would be true, if Amy had lived she'd have wanted or needed some kind of support.  
"Oh, John..." Molly squeaked. "That's so lovely!" John blushed a little deeper and ran one hand through his hair.  
"Now I'm sure you've all done the maths and worked out when this baby was supposed to be born but.... well... things didn't go to plan." John admitted and he saw Molly's and Mrs Hudson's faces fall. John bit his lip.  
  
"We got a call the other night... to say Amy had gone into labour." John suddenly decided he didn't want them all to know about the escapade in the lift, some things should stay private, he'd give Amy that dignity in death. "We went to the hospital but... well... it didn't go well. The baby was born with the cord around its neck and..." John recalled briefly how blue Jay had gone in his arms and shuddered slightly. Lestrade crossed the room and placed his hand on John's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.  
"If you need a break, mate..."  
"No, no, I've started so I'll finish." John reassured, grateful for his friends really.  
  
"In attempting to get the baby untangled... I don't know something must have pulled too hard or torn or something... the baby was only just freed when Amy started haemorrhaging."  
"Oh, John." Molly whimpered again, tears in her eyes and her hands pressed to her mouth. John would not cry in front of all these people, he refused.  
"Amy died in childbirth." He told them grimly, and didn't let his eyes settle on any of the shocked faces before putting his palm over his eyes. Damn it, he said he wouldn't cry. He sniffed awkwardly and stood up straight. "The funeral's on Saturday and we're understandably well... heartbroken really." That much was true. "Anyway I've prattled on long enough and I'm sure you're all sick of my voice so... without further ado, there's someone very special that we'd like you to meet."   
  
John was thankful for Sherlock's bat-like hearing because his timing was impeccable. He slowly descended the stairs, gracefully and elegantly, the tiny baby in his arms only helped his good looks and John felt oddly proud of them both as they stunned the room to silence.  
"Our daughter, Jay." Sherlock said, his voice a low rumble. How a man could manage to look seductive on little sleep with a sick stain on his shirt, John wasn't entirely sure. The shocked silence didn't last, Harry was on her feet first but certainly not last as people hurried over to peer at the little girl. Sherlock's grace and elegance fell away quite quickly as he looked a little overwhelmed by people crowding him. John chuckled softly, not really at Sherlock's expense but his discomfort was quietly endearing.  
  
John allowed the hubbub for a few minutes.  
"Can I hold her, please, I promise not to drop her!" Molly pleaded, already doe eyed at the sight of an infant. John was briefly reminded that Sherlock had considered her to adopt with and felt slightly uncomfortable with that, until Harry caused trouble by announcing loudly.  
"Back off mousy, I'm a blood relative... sort of!"  
"Bloody hell." Lestrade laughed, speaking directly to Sherlock. "You with a kid, never thought I'd see the day!" Sherlock wasn't sure if that was an insult or a compliment so chose to ignore it.  
"If we all just calm down for a minute." John said raising his hands to silence everyone as they found their way back to their seats. Mrs Hudson stopped and gave John a very motherly sort of hug, there were still tears in her eyes.  
"I think it's wonderful that they let your sort adopt these days, in my day it was only straight, white, married couples allowed to. You're going to be a wonderful father, John!" She promised him, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman of her age.  
"He already is." Sherlock answered as everyone settled down.  
  
"Well, pass her over." Harry ordered and Sherlock frowned, holding Jay tighter to his chest.  
"Sherlock..." John said worriedly, noting his expression. "I know you're protective of her but other people have to be allowed to hold her too." Sherlock still looked incredibly reluctant, eyeing Harry with distrust, Lestrade suddenly on edge, worried this was going to blow up in a Sherlockian manner. Sherlock slowly crouched and lay Jay in Harry's arms.  
"Support her head." He instructed firmly, manipulating Harry's arms to cradle her properly. "And if she starts crying you're not to try reasoning with her, just hand her to John."   
"What idiot would try reason with a crying baby?" Harry scoffed as Sherlock straightened up, not even taking a step back, hovering over them as though he was waiting to catch her if Harry dropped her on her head or something.  
  
John frowned. It was going to be another long night.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: D’aww. I do love writing Sherlock with a baby, he's so clueless but rational about it.


	4. The Past, The Present, The Katy Perry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which TalksToSelf uses far too many pop-culture references

  
The first real incident of the night came when Lestrade had jovially announced they ought to get a few beers in.  
"You know, wet the baby's head*!" John immediately remembered his promise to Sherlock, who was still on a knife edge every time someone else took hold of Jay (he was loitering in a corner, actually biting his nails with concern).   
"Ah... no." John shook his head. "Not a good idea."  
"Come on, it's tradition!" Harry chimed in.  
"I've got a bottle of sherry downstairs." Mrs Hudson added unhelpfully, stroking Jay's hair as Molly fed her (John had made a bottle up a short while ago). "I use it for my baking." She whispered to Molly. John shot Sherlock a help-me-out-here look, but he was too busy stressing over Molly's apparent ineptitude.  
  
"I'll just pop to the corner shop and we'll get a crate in..." Lestrade said, shuffling into his coat.   
"Molly, for goodness sake tip the bottle upwards all you're doing is giving her a bottle full of air. She'll be sick." Sherlock said waspishly.  
"Sherlock - booze." John warned, nodding toward Lestrade who was heading toward the door already.  
"Fine fine, let them go." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, still monitoring Molly and Jay. John sighed and allowed Greg to leave with Anderson, Harry scrambled to her feet and followed them out, chattering loudly about men's inability to pick decent wine.  
"You're supposed to be on the wagon, Harriet!" John called out after her, but she didn't respond. John just sighed.  
  
When they did return, with enough alcohol to kill a small elephant, things got louder and busier. Lestrade ended up having one beer too many and falling asleep on the living room desk (after attempting to hit on Harry and failing miserably due to the fact that "Harry's y'know... a lesbian" - John, Molly had looked massively affronted by Lestrade's behaviour - again, John wondered). Sherlock's tense mood was lightened briefly when Jay, having had to much to drink herself and having been in Anderson's arms a whole ten seconds, decided to throw up all over his chest.  
"Oh she is definitely your kid." Anderson told Sherlock in disgust, handing Jay to her father while John fetched a towel to mop up.  
"Well, she certainly has good taste, I'll give her that." Sherlock agreed somewhat proudly as Anderson wrinkled his nose, wiping the milky baby sick off his jacket.   
  
The night descended into madness from there on out, Harry got into a very one-sided argument with Molly who simply sat there wide eyed and got shouted at, Lestrade woke up yelling about the location of his gun and seemed very confused to realise he was still at the party, Mrs Hudson made everybody a cup of tea to sober up and Harry managed to somehow sneak vodka into hers (how she'd managed to get a hold of vodka when all they'd bought was wine and beer....). Mycroft watched the whole scene in mild amusement, occasionally glancing at Sherlock who was becoming more and more distressed. John cornered him by the fire place.  
  
"You okay?" He queried in a whisper, not that he needed to whisper to avoid being heard, the room was a seething mass of over excited innebrieated voices.  
"It's just... a bit much." Sherlock muttered darkly, glancing at Anderson who was gossiping on the phone to Donovan.  
"Yeah... I know what you mean." John agreed, trying not to be furious with his sister for making another cutting remark at Molly who looked like she may burst into tears any second. Sherlock rubbed the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes shut tightly. "Headache?" John asked knowingly, reaching up and touching the back of his hand to Sherlock's forehead to make sure there was no temperature.  
"Obviously." Sherlock said with a trade mark eye roll, not flinching at the rare skin-to-skin contact.  
"Go to bed, I'll bring you a couple of paracetamol in when everyone's gone." John instructed. Sherlock sighed begrudgingly, said a quick goodbye to the room in general and vanished into the bedroom.  
  
One by one the guests trickled out (Mycroft ended up calling cars for Lestrade and Harry, who were apparently in no fit state to get home of their own accord). Molly gave John a hug and a kiss on each cheek before she left and John did his best to ignore the slight twinge of guilt that he had for being mad at her earlier for something that she'd not even been involved in. Mrs Hudson finally handed Jay back to John and tottered off downstairs for a herbal soother and then bed. In the end John was left standing in the living room with Jay in his arms and Mycroft, who appeared to have no intention of leaving just yet, propped up on a chair, surveying him with eagle eyed attention.  
  
"How is he coping?" He asked in an oddly business like manner.  
"Uh... well actually yeah, really well." John admitted, he had no faults with how Sherlock was dealing with Jay for the most part. Mycroft's smile was oddly thin and all knowing. He produced a set of keys and an envelope from his pocket.  
"The keys to Ms MacDonald's apartment, and the address. The landlord would like her things moved out by the end of next week so it's up to you to sort out what you want to keep and what can go to charity." John nodded, he'd been expecting that. The keys had a small fob on them and a photo keyring of a blurry grey ultrasound picture. Jay. Jay long before John and Sherlock had known she existed.  
  
John glanced at her, after a long day she was starting to fall asleep. It occured to John then that Mycroft had not held her - and he was family.  
"Would you like her for a bit?" John offered hesitantly.  
"I would not dream of touching her without Sherlock's express permission and I doubt he would allow it." Mycroft said smoothly.  
"Ah... it's just... you are his brother and technically her uncle so..." He trailed off, wondering how far the feud with the Holmes brothers stretched if Mycroft was forbidden to hold Sherlock's daughter. "Well, thanks for, you know... paying for the funeral and everything."   
  
Mycroft gave a small nod, still watching John very carefully.  
"How is he with her?" He asked curiously.  
"Uh... good, yeah he's good with her - well, mostly. Occasionally he talks to her like she understands him... he calls her Jay when he talks _about_ her but when he talks _to_ her she tends to be called 'small person' which is a bit odd... but other than that, he's... good." This was an incredibly awkward conversation.  
"You're wondering why I encouraged this nonsensical endeavour." Mycroft observed neatly, reminding John that Sherlock was not the only Holmes who saw through people.  
"A bit, yeah." John admitted, settling down onto the sofa and leaning Jay against his chest. She gave a tiny yawn and her little fist gripped his shirt collar tightly.  
"This could be the making or breaking of Sherlock." Mycroft's tone was infamously cold. "She could be everything he needs or she could be what tips him over the edge. I approved of the adoption for the simple reason that he asked me to. I think he sees her as a way of making amends for his own past."  
  
"His pa... oh. Yeah he mentioned that he'd been in care?" John suddenly remembered how dark and quiet Sherlock had gone when they mentioned the care system, his confession had registered in John's mind but he knew he was not supposed to ask Sherlock about it.  
"Briefly, yes." Mycroft nodded.  
"What happened?" John asked cautiously.   
"It is not my place to say." Mycroft said sternly, John had expected that much. "If you want answers, you'll have to discuss it with my brother. I will say that a lot of who he is today is down to what happened while he was in foster care - and it's the main reason he resents me so much, he thinks what went on there was my fault." Mycroft glanced at the ceiling then sighed. "I suppose in a way it was. So when he asked this favour of me I didn't feel I could refuse - he made it very clear that I owe him that much. He wants to atone for what he believes to be his sins and if raising a baby is how he intends to do so... far be it from me to deny him that."  
  
John was quiet for a long moment, because he knew what it sounded like and he didn't like the thought of that one bit. Had Sherlock been abused by his foster carers? It would certainly make a lot of sense of his adult behaviour. He bowed his head and looked at Jay, now soundly asleep. Was that why Sherlock had been so adamant that Jay wasn't subjected to the same situation? Damn.  
  
Mycroft began to gather his things.  
"I shall see you on Saturday for the funeral, Doctor Watson." He said as he got to his feet. He hovered by the arm of the sofa for a minute, peering at Jay with mild curiosity. "I know it's a physical impossibility... but she almost looks like him." He said vaguely. "I'll let myself out." And with that he was gone. John stared for far too long at Jay, her hair still very dark (though it was starting to look a dark brown rather than black, hard to tell at this age) and skin very pale due to never having really seen the sunlight. On a very basic level he supposed she did look a little like Sherlock, it all depended on what Jay senior looked like, John supposed.  
  
John got himself up and grabbed the bottle of paracetamol, struggled to pour a glass of water with Jay in his arms, before taking Jay into Sherlock's bedroom. The detective was sat up in bed, shirtless and in his pyjama trousers, reading from a medical journal.  
"Everyone's gone home." John told him, placing the glass shakily on the bedside table, spilling a little. He lay Jay down in the crib and began tucking her in, aware of Sherlock's eyes on his back. "I'm going to nip round to Amy's flat tomorrow, make a start on clearing it all out. You can come if you want but it'll probably be uh..." John tried to think of the word Sherlock would use to describe it. "Tedious." Definitely.  
"I'll come along, need to figure out how to work the buggy anyway." Sherlock sipped at the water before tipping the paracetamol down his throat. John drew his eyes from the little girl in the cot and glanced hesitantly at Sherlock.  
  
John knew there were many different kinds of abuse, all of them equally debilitating in their own way. Sitting there, shirtless, John could see the old marks on his arms from drug abuse and got a brief glance of one large scar along Sherlock's back, a thin white line that looked as though he'd been whipped. John wondered whether Sherlock had been beaten whilst in care, if he'd been insulted or called names or made to feel like he was worthless. He wondered how old Sherlock had been, was he young enough to believe it? Old enough to know better? Then he wondered some more, had Sherlock ever been touched inappropriately, raped even? Did that explain why he was so cold and emotionally distant with people?   
  
"John, you're staring." Sherlock told him drily and John blinked and looked away.  
"Yeah uh... goodnight then." He mumbled.  
"Goodnight." Sherlock said bluntly, evidently working out that John had been pondering the origins of his scar - well, the one that he could see, and disliking the conclusions John was drawing. John slipped quietly from the room, ashamed that he'd been caught staring, but more concerned about Sherlock than he'd ever been.  
  
\---------------------  
  
John was grateful to learn that Amy had lived on the bottom floor, it had been hard enough trying to get the pram out of 221b unfolded, then putting it together on the doorstep. The flat itself was tiny, there was evidence of where Mycroft's men had been in and extracted the essentials, such as the tiny indents in the bedroom floor when the cot had been, and open cupboards now empty of baby wipes and nappies. John began to shift through certain things, setting Amy's clothes to one side for charity, extra baby clothes were on another pile to take home.   
  
"How many outfits could a child possibly need?" Sherlock wondered aloud.  
"A lot. Plus you don't _really_ know how big a baby's going to be - you get a vague idea but a pound or two can really affect the clothes... she'd prepared the first three sizes, plus a few nicer things for when she's a little bigger. All gender neutral though." John noted. There were no pretty pink dresses or tiny football kits, all baby grows in various shades of yellow, green, purple and cream.  
"Do we keep sentimental items?" Sherlock asked curiously, fingering a photo frame on the mantel.  
"Yeah... Jay's going to be able to talk one day and she's going to have questions about her parents so... photographs, valentine's cards, whatever should be kept. We can put them in a box in the loft until she's old enough to ask." John mumbled, still fiddling with two tiny pairs of socks. Sherlock was silent for a little while, Jay was in the pram in the corridor while they were looking through things.   
  
John was just collecting all Jay's scan photos and the 'baby's firsts' book when Sherlock made a revalation.  
"I thought you said you didn't know Amy's husband..." He asked. John didn't look up.  
"Nope. Not in my regiment."  
"You must be mistaken - you're in this photograph." Sherlock handed John a picture and he froze. It was of his squad, and sure enough he was stood next to, his arm thrown around a young man with an inked red heart around his head.  
"Oh god." John gasped, feeling his stomach turn and his knees go weak. "Mack! I didn't even think... we didn't call him Jay... he was just Mack... Must have been short for MacDonald and I never registered it... Oh I'm an idiot." John stared at the photograph forlornly. Mack had died long after John had already come home. He had stories about Mack, when Amy had asked him if he knew him they could have shared jokes about him, swapped tales. John shook his head softly. He could have comforted Amy in her dying moments with the truth - that Mack had been a brilliant man and a talented soldier. A bit dozy, a bit daft, tall and thin he'd always looked like a teenager going through a growth sput but he was very well loved and always so sweet and kind.   
  
John's chest throbbed and he just looked hopelessly at the picture in his hand.   
"You're... not okay?" Sherlock observed cautiously.   
"It's just... weird is all. I knew Mack, he was a nice bloke... I knew he had a fiancee - she was his fiancee then, I'd come home before they got married. I never though I'd be raising their child... he was a brave man, forever getting himself into trouble though." John murmured with a sigh. Sherlock reached out and his hand hovered over John's shoulder, wanting to offer him some form of comfort, but he couldn't bring himself to just embrace the man. Jay took her cue well and burst into tears. John set down the photograph hurriedly and went to see to her, thankful for the escape route.   
  
He spent far too long faffing around with her, so when he came back into the room with her against his chest, Sherlock had already packed away the photographs that were causing so much trouble - another of those things that John and Sherlock just weren't allowed to talk about. John walked Jay around the flat a few times, feeling oddly emotional at the fact this was the closest Jay would ever get to knowing her parents, and it was all going into boxes. He silently promised her that it would be okay, and pleaded with the universe that he'd be able to keep that promise.  
  
The funeral was even more draining - and heartbreakingly low attended. A few of Mack's army friends showed up, recognised John and patted him reassuringly on the back, Molly and Mrs Hudson came to show their respects but nobody talked much to each other. John gave the eulogy, but it was packed with lies - he felt like a fraud, speaking of their friendship that hadn't existed, the only thing that brought any colour to the day was Jay, Amy had no black clothes prepared for her, but lemon and cream seemed inappropriately sunny for a funeral, John had hastily bought her a little blue playsuit because blue seemed appropriate for grief without imposing mourning on an innocent child. An innocent child who, almost knowingly, howled throughout the entire service.  
  
Amy was buried in the same plot as her husband, whose grave was recently adorned with a Union Jack flag from the boys, but looked predominantly uncared for. John stood by the grave longer than anybody else, staring at the white stone adored with dates too close together for his liking. Molly came, squeezed John's hand and left again. It began to rain but John was rooted to the spot, just staring at the grave stone, wanting answers. Sherlock appeared by his side, looking the part in a charcoal grey suit and jet black silk shirt - for once he was even wearing a tie, white. He'd left Jay with Mrs Hudson.  
"You'll catch a cold." He warned.  
"Mmm." John murmured, to himself mostly. Sherlock removed the white flower from his lapel and threw it gracefully onto the grave, it clung to the mud, the rain beginning to batter it immediately.  
"Come inside?" Sherlock suggested.  
"Not yet." John said resolutely.  
  
Sherlock hesitated, the look of grief was one he was well accustomed to in his line of work, but seeing John's face lined with loss was completely new. Sherlock glanced at the grave and saw only a white marble plinth - John saw Amy's body, he saw his comrade's lifeless eyes, John saw lives that had ended too early, he saw everything that had ever been and everything that never would be. Sherlock wondered how he coped with all that, it seemed too much for one person to feel all at once, but the hollowness in his eyes showed it all.  
"You're amazing, do you know that?" Sherlock offered. John still did not move. "You barely knew this woman, and yet you grieve for her. You are capable of so much more empathy than most..." He mused. "The man was a friend, a companion - I could understand that kind of loss. Yet... you're sad for more than him, you're sad for him... for his wife... for their daughter. That kind of emotion is... daunting." He admitted, not looking at John, looking at the grave and trying, in vain, to see what John saw.  
  
"I pity you for the hurt you must feel, but at the same time I am impressed that you _can_ feel that much. You are... a rather fantastic human being, John Watson." He said softly, John knew how rare it was for Sherlock to give compliments, even rarer for him to offer them when he was not trying to apologise for something he'd done wrong.  
  
John began to feel the rain then, dripping from his hair, soaking through his suit - the one he only ever wore for weddings or funerals. He'd not really been aware of the deluge until that point. Sherlock stood very still, not sure whether he was intruding on John's grief or helping soothe it. It was just getting to the point where Sherlock thought he ought to go, to leave John to mourn in his own way when John reached over and took Sherlock's hand. Sherlock nodded in semi-understanding - John had to cry right now, but he did not have to cry alone.  
  
Sherlock squeezed his friend's hand softly, and waited until the soldier felt strong enough, embued by Sherlock's presence, to stand straight and perform a military salute to the stone. John and Sherlock walked back to the church hand in hand, only letting go when someone handed Jay to John, now dry eyed and standing tall once more.  
  
He drank that night, when he got home. Sherlock let him, quietly dealing with Jay on his own while John silently drank himself into a stupor. When he awoke the next morning, he was asleep on the sofa with a blanket over him that Sherlock must have given him and a headache that he'd only himself to blame for. He dragged himself to his feet and started breakfast, making some for Sherlock whether he wanted it or not.   
"She's still asleep." Sherlock said, appearing at John's side after being awoken by the smell of bacon.  
"Don't sneak up on me while I'm cooking, it's a good way to get a frying pan to the face." John muttered.   
"Hungover?" Sherlock queried, observing the half-hearted threat for what it was.  
"Yeah... sorry."   
"Is it out of your system now?" He questioned, filling the kettle, John knew he wasn't talking about the alcohol.  
"Think so..." John flipped the bacon which was beginning to turn brown and crispy the way he prefered it, but he was cooking Sherlock's share too and Sherlock liked his barely done. Awkward man.  
  
"Thanks... for yesterday." John mumbled, starting to plate up scrambled eggs.  
"I didn't do anything." Sherlock said earnestly.  
"You did." John said, and the subject was closed. They ate their breakfast (well, John ate, Sherlock picked it apart and examined bits of it). Jay at least had the common decency to wait until John had finished eating to wake up, hungry for her own breakfast. Sherlock made to get up but John ushered him back to his seat and began making up a bottle, the detective just shrugged - continuing to dissect his eggs with keen interest, as he had no real experiments he could do.  
  
The next couple of days and weeks were spent trying to establish a routine for Jay, working out when she needed to be fed and changed and when she was grouchy because she needed sleep as opposed to being grouchy for the sake of being grouchy. The upside of getting Jay into a routine was that for the first time since John had moved in with him - Sherlock began to develop a routine, scheduling sleeping hours around Jay and eating at semi-regular intervals. John was quite impressed, Sherlock never modified his behaviour for anybody.   
  
"You know I'm going back to work tomorrow." John voiced, not for the first time. He was pacing as he cradled a sleepy Jay. For the past week he'd been mentioning it, but every time he did Sherlock suddenly busied himself with changing a nappy or calling Lestrade. John was fairly certain that Sherlock was concerned about being left alone with her but then again he might just be an awkward sulky git, hard to tell with Sherlock.  
"Mmhmm." Sherlock murmured vaguely as John wandered into the kitchen, still lulling Jay.  
"Why have you dismantled her mobile?" He asked exasperatedly, eyeing the bits and pieces of what had been a rather ironic model of the solar system that had previously lived above Jay's crib.  
"I'm modifying it." Came the answer, as though it was obvious. John sighed.  
"Of course you are." He stroked Jay's hair, she was almost out but not completely, big blue eyes fighting to stay open.   
  
"It only spins clockwise," Sherlock explained, absently tossing the small light up orb that was supposed to represent Venus. "I want it to alternate, so she doesn't get bored." Sherlock had a funny idea of what interested babies but John had to admit this one was a bit cute. "It will also stimulate the sensory part of her brain more if it changed to counter clockwise on every 20th turn."   
"Right..." John couldn't keep the smirk from his face. Sherlock sighed heavily.  
"You disapprove?"  
"No. No, I approve. Just put it back together when you're done." He instructed as Jay began to whimper softly.  
"She's almost in a complete routine now, that's almost 4 weeks ahead of what the baby book says..." He observed.  
"Great, we've got another genius in the house." John spoke playfully, Sherlock stood up.   
"Hand her over. You go make tea." He ordered, extending his arms. John had got used to Sherlock's occasional demands for her attention, so didn't hesitate to slowly offload their daughter into his arms.   
  
As John set about with the kettle he overheard  
"Okay small person, you're obviously tired and it's... 12 minutes past your average nap time." In Sherlock's typical no-nonsense tone, as he tried to rationalise with an infant. By the time John arrived with the tea she was determinedly trying to raise her little head, something she'd not quite got the hang of yet. John set the tea down on the table.  
"Are you going to be okay with me going back to work?" He asked cautiously as Sherlock circled the room, rubbing Jay's back.  
"I... honestly don't know." Sherlock said coolly. "Would you trust me alone with a child?"  
"Yes." John didn't hesitate to answer. "And Mrs Hudson's usually just downstairs if you do need her, and I'm just a phone call away." Sherlock did not look happy, but shrugged dismissively. Jay gave another pitiful cry.  
  
"I'll hold her, you play?" John offered, nodding towards the violin Sherlock had abandoned earlier than morning after getting the urge to modify her mobile.  
"She doesn't like it when I play. I tried it the other night while you were asleep - it only succeeded in her crying louder to try drown it out. Perhaps she's a bit young to appreciate classical..." He wondered. Jay's occasional pathetic sobs were now a steady litany of whimpers.  
"Maybe... she liked the radio the other morning." John said leaning over and pressing a button on the stereo. It crackled into life with the sort of whiny pop music Sherlock despised but after only a few minutes Jay seemed to soothe and calm down.  
  
"How on earth did _we_ end up with a daughter who will only be silent when exposed to the incessant screeching of one Katy Perry?" Sherlock asked distastefully. John chuckled as Sherlock lay her in her carry cot, sitting down next to John on the sofa and taking his tea without a thank you.  
"You _do_ realise she's not biologically ours?" He teased, Sherlock's ears turned slightly pink, of course he knew that. "Anyway, more to the point how do _you_ know who Katy Perry is?"  
"There was a complicated trangender murder case a couple of years ago apparently entirely dependent on the lyrics of ' _One of the boys_ '." Sherlock shuddered in disapproval.   
"You'll be fine tomorrow, you know." John put forward, watching intently as Sherlock sipped at his tea but never took his eyes from Jay.   
"Perhaps. I have an activity planned." He confirmed.   
  
"Nothing dangerous, you promised." John reminded him. Sherlock scowled.  
"I know what I promised and no it's not 'dangerous'... though I fail to see how the mould cultures you confiscated are 'dangerous'." He added. John had lectured him for hours about asthma and health and safety after that one. "No it's a basic developmental exercise the baby book recommended." John was beginning to wish Molly hadn't bought Sherlock a baby developmental guide, Sherlock seemed to quote it as gospel 99% of the time.   
"Which is?"  
"Call and response. She's three weeks old now, she's starting to have a grasp on language and whereas her body forbids her from actually forming words she's been cooing and gurgling a lot as of late, her own primitive attempt at communication. The aim of the activity is to copy the noises she makes - showing her that she is making herself understood. It's meant to encourage bonding and psychological development. Eventually she should progress to the point where she can mimic noises too. Only simple ones, mind. The book recommends 'b-b-b' and 'm-m-m' as they require less..."  
"You're a brilliant father." John blurted. He didn't mean to, and he'd cut Sherlock off in his stride. Sherlock looked very startled.  
  
"What?" Sherlock asked, stunned.  
"You are. I know you worry and I know you think you're not, and I know you're really going to panic over tomorrow, but you're good with her. You really are." Sherlock actually looked too surprised to speak, John only smiled at him. Sherlock bowed his head, with his brow furrowed. He was not used to compliments, they only ever really came from John.  
"Well... I guess we'll see tomorrow." He mumbled awkwardly.  
  
John made sure to get up early the next morning, Sherlock was at the kitchen table fiddling with the remnants of Jay's mobile.  
"Morning... where's Blue Jay?"  
"I wish you wouldn't call her that." Sherlock grumbled, prodding at an LED with his screwdriver (well, John's screwdriver).  
"It's cute, anyway it's better than 'Small person'." John countered.   
"She _is_ a small person, she's not a decorative bird with ostentatious plumage." Sherlock argued, losing his temper and throwing Mars against the wall with a loud crash. John jumped , startled at the noise, as did Jay who was in her car seat in front of the washing machine. She began to howl powerfully.  
  
"Sherlock!" John scolded, hurrying over to her. "I know I keep telling you she's too young to understand but this sort of stuff rubs off on them, you can't throw things or shoot things or shout the odds anymore." He snapped. Sherlock looked alarmed.  
"Well, I guess I'm not such a brilliant father after all." He growled darkly.  
"Oh come off it! You know I didn't mean it like that." John grumbled, running his fingers over Jay's face as she wailed. Sherlock frowned and glanced at the mobile.  
  
"It's broken." The detective said, somewhat forlornly.   
"Well if it wasn't before, it is now." John sighed, unstrapping Jay hurriedly. "Why was she on the kitchen floor?" He asked, not sure he really wanted to know the answer.   
"The white noise from the washing machine calms her down, and it's a colour wash so she had sensory stimulation." Sherlock explained. "My mother used to do it when I was a baby. It's certainly better than _Cbeebies_." He mumbled, staring at the red shards of plastic. John sighed heavily.  
"Look, there's a toy shop not too far from the clinic, I'll buy her a new mobile on the way home from work okay... one that rotates both ways." He promised.  
"Take my card." John opened his mouth to protest. "I broke it, I'll buy the new one. Take my card." He insisted. John frowned and nodded, looking at Sherlock with apprehensive eyes.  
  
"Maybe we should leave her with Mrs Hudson for the day..." Sherlock said softly. John crossed the small kitchen and placed the hand that was not cradling Jay on Sherlock's shoulder, Sherlock flinched at the touch.   
"You'll be fine, Sherlock." John swore. Sherlock did not look convinced.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: *Wet the baby's head. I don't know if you use that expression wherever you are dear reader, but I'm Irish and we use it a lot - it's basically an excuse to drink, when someone's just had a baby.


	5. The Thin White Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!

Despite his promises, John spent the whole day worrying and checking his phone between patients. Sarah seemed overly concerned about him on his lunch break, but he brushed her off with an 'I'm fine. It's all fine, honestly.' Though, contrary to his claims, he nearly had a heart attack when he got a text 10 minutes before the end of his shift. He nearly threw Mrs Blakeley's prescription at her, ushering her out of the office to check his phone.  
' _Greg_ ' John's heart raced, worried that police were involved. Then he read the message  
" **To what extent is Sherlock not allowed to participate in murder investigations? We've got a doozy here, could really use his help**..." John sat down, he controlled his breathing before texting back.   
" **Don't bring him to the scene, you can text him pics + bring the crime report round**." He sighed in relief. One more patient then he could go home.   
  
He was half way down the block when he remembered he'd promised to swing by the toy store, he had to back track a street or two and turn left. He groaned as he turned the corner and realised the street was cordoned off, then he saw a familiar face.  
"Sally? What's happened?" He asked, summoning Sargent Sally Donovan, clad in her fluorescent uniform.   
"Murder, nasty one too." She told him, lifting the police tape to let him through. "The freak's not with you? Lestrade said he'd text him..."  
"No." He said curtly, deciding to ignore the insult. "He's at home with Jay... any clue who the victim was?" He asked as Sally led him through the street, crawling with forensics. He spotted Anderson and gave him a civil nod.  
"Jay? Oh, the baby. It's true then? You and him..." Sally seemed genuinely intrigued.  
"Yeah." John agreed absently. "Victim?" He repeated.  
  
"You're a brave man, Watson." She said shaking her head. "Victim's the keeper of the toy shop, had his throat slit then he was strung up from the shop ceiling." She said disgustedly, waving them through the two guards at the door and in to the shop where sure enough a man of about 60 was 'strung up' like Sally had said, and the first word that came to John's mind was 'puppet', his dead arms and legs posed artistically like a marionette. John would have winced, but he'd become more than used to grizzly murders.  
  
Sally started a sneezing fit almost the moment they entered the shop.  
"Ugh, sorry." She gestured vaguely at a vase full of aster daisies on the shop counter. "Bloody hay-fever."  
"Any ideas?" He asked Greg who was standing in the corner with his hand over his mouth as though he may gag.  
"Haven't the foggiest, by all accounts he was a much loved, slightly eccentric shopkeeper with no enemies to speak of." He sighed heavily. "Has to be a grudge though, doesn't it?"  
"Dunno..." John would be inclined to agree but he knew that if Sherlock were here he'd be spitting mad, yelling that they can't theorize without evidence.  
  
"What are you even doing here?" Greg asked suddenly, as though he'd just realised John was in the room.  
"Uh... I was supposed to be buying Blue Jay a new mobile." He said distractedly, fairly certain the dead man was staring at him with hollow eyes.  
"What happened to her old mobile?" Greg queried.  
"Er... Sherlock sort of... modified it." John admitted, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. Sally let out a barking laugh amidst her sneezes.  
"Oh god, he didn't add eyeballs to it or something weird?" She teased, sniffling a little. John bristled defensively.   
  
"No, he was trying to improve it for her benefit actually." He said shortly. Sally looked surprised.  
"Oh... no I didn't mean..." Before she could properly apologise she let out a loud "ACHOO!"  
"I know what you meant," John cut in sternly. She had the good grace to look sheepish, even she knew it was bad form to insult someone's other half (in front of them). "He's good with her, okay." Sally went quiet, wiping her eyes which were stinging from pollen - the flowers must be fresh. "Greg can you drop the report off later tonight, I'm sure Sherlock'll love this one. Just... no chasing armed criminals down dark alleys, okay?" He said awkwardly, taking off before he could bite Sally's head off.  
"That was bang out of order," Greg murmured at her, in a vague attempt at discipline.   
"I know... " She agreed apologetically. "Just... John and Sherlock with a _baby_ it's so... weird, ah... achoo!"   
  
John practically ran home, phantom pains in his leg aside, he was in a rush. He darted into 221b, raced up the stairs and fumbled with his key in the lock. The living room was empty as was the kitchen.  
"Sherlock?" He called uncertainly, rewarded only with silence. It was only as he burst into Sherlock's bedroom to see Jay awake in her cot and Sherlock sleeping on the bed on his stomach, face turned toward the door that the realisation hit John: He'd not just been desperate to see that Jay was okay, he'd been eager to get home to make sure Sherlock was too. He heaved another sigh of relief and approached the cot. Jay was wide awake, bright blue eyes wide and expectant. John dangled his fingers into the crib, wriggling them just over Jay's nose. He looked at Sherlock, who was clad only in his pyjama bottoms.   
  
Given that he was shirtless, John could now see the scar he'd only glimpsed the other night, a long thin white line across Sherlock's back. He wondered how he'd not noticed it at Buckingham Palace, though he supposed his mind had been on other things. John surveyed it with the eyes of a doctor, up close it definitely looked like a whip mark, it was perfectly straight, milk white and not raised above Sherlock's skin. He removed his hand from the cot and knelt beside Sherlock's bed, gaze sweeping the detective's upper body for any more signs of abuse. He nearly missed it. Low on his hip, lower than the sheet had fallen in the Palace, just peeking over the hemline of his trousers was an angry pink mark that obviously crept lower, from what John could see it appeared to be a burn, the skin discoloured and slightly bubbled.  
  
John was just starting to feel seriously sorry for him when Sherlock opened his eyes blearily.  
"Wasn't asleep." He murmured drowsily. John realised that in crouching so close, their faces were very close together, Sherlock seemed to realise this too, raising one eyebrow.  
"It's fine." John said, jumping up and away from Sherlock. "Just... came in to check on you when I got home. Lestrade's text you." He said very quickly, turning his attention back to Jay, wrapping his hands around her tiny torso as he lifted her out of her bed. He tried not to pay attention to the fact his cheeks were turning red.  
"Has he?" Sherlock yawned, sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes.   
  
"Yeah, murder. Told him you'd be okay to look at the photos and case report later?" John explained, going for the nappy bag at the foot of Jay's cot.  
"I thought I wasn't allowed..." Sherlock started, unsure whether he was being tested or not.  
"Sherlock, I'm not going to make you quit your job, you're good at it for one and it keeps you... entertained I guess... you just have to use your judgement. Be safe. No diving on nutters with knives, or chasing psychos half way round London - okay?" John pressed, laying out Jay's changing mat and sinking to his knees.   
"So I'm only allowed to take cases where my physical safety is not compromised?" Sherlock queried, shrugging on his blue dressing gown, hiding his scars - he did not seem bothered by the fact John had seen them, but he was obviously aware of it - he always knew whatever John was thinking. Sherlock knelt at the head of Jay's changing mat, distracting her with the belt of his dressing down, running the soft fabric over her eyes and nose. She cooed contentedly in response.  
  
"Yes... or the physical safety of me or Jay actually. How'd the teaching activity go?" John asked, more than used to changing dirty nappies by then, Sherlock did pull his weight and changed his fair share, but honestly - young babies were apparently just poop machines.  
  
"She's able to hold her own version of a conversation, when she chooses." Sherlock explained. Jay struggled to lift her head towards the belt, Sherlock's hand dipped down, cupping the back of her skull to make sure she didn't injure herself. "Try it yourself. Next time she makes a noise, mimic it. She's a very fast learner." John smiled.  
"Trust you to raise a genius." He chuckled softly.  
"It's a little early to tell if she's a genius." Sherlock chided, using his free hand to check his mobile phone. "The shop keeper you were going to visit?" He queried, mildly surprised. John nodded.  
"Yeah, bad timing. Didn't manage to get her a new mobile, I'll have to go further afield." Sherlock's brow was furrowed as he flicked through his texts.   
"I'll need your laptop shortly, to view the photographs properly."  
"Since when did you ask to borrow my laptop?" John teased, lifting Jay's legs. Sherlock shrugged offhandedly.   
  
"Interesting body positioning." Sherlock mumbled. "Almost ritualistic..."  
"Looked like a puppet to me.." John said, feeling a shiver run down his spine. "Can we not discuss murder over the changing mat, please?" He added. Sherlock rolled his eyes, it was always John telling him that Jay didn't understand what was being said but he ignored it and continued flicking through his mobile, perusing the too small photographs of a dead man just above his daughter's head. The belt of the dressing gown had been largely forgotten and dangled too close to her mouth, she clamped her lips down over it and sucked on the end. John grinned.  
  
"Blue Jay that can't be too tasty..." John paused. "There's no chemicals or anything on there is there?"  
"Hm, no." Sherlock said distractedly, freeing the material from Jay's mouth. She gave a distinct  
"Ah!" noise.  
"Ah." Sherlock copied, as though agreeing with her, without taking his eyes from the screen. John thought it was odd to hear Sherlock, composed, articulate and clever, making baby noises.  
"Eh." She replied. Sherlock leaned down, ruffled her hair and then stood up.   
"Eh indeed, I need to go phone Lestrade." He announced, wandering from the room, glued to his phone.  
  
John sighed and buttoned Jay's lemon yellow baby grow back up.  
"You'll soon get used to your father doing that - wandering off to work." He told her, leaning over and pinning her little hands down, pressing his nose to hers. "He'll be out of action, or well... in action, for the next 24 hours at least, so it's probably going to be just you and me tonight, okay?" He said. She looked right through him, evidently without a clue what he was on about. He smiled softly. Being away from her at work today, he'd realised just how much he did care for this little girl who'd somehow worked her way into their lives. He'd been attached to her since they brought her home, he liked her - nobody could dislike a newborn baby who was entirely dependent on them, but today had proven to John for the first time that he was in fact a father and he did actually love the 'small person', as Sherlock called her. He kissed her lightly on the nose before pulling back and packing the baby bag.  
  
John was wrong, however, about Sherlock's being **fully** focused on the work for the next 24 hours. For the next few hours he _was_ completely absorbed with it, on the laptop sending emails at lightning speed, on the phone with Lestrade, printing out gruesome photographs and laying them out on the table. John busied himself with Jay, he knew not to disturb Sherlock when he was working. He was feeding Jay when the door went.  
"That'll be Lestrade." Sherlock mumbled, pen darting across a loose leaf of paper as he took notes.   
"It's not locked!" John called and the door swung open to reveal Greg with a file in his hand.  
"You housekeeper let me in, you lot alright?"  
"She's not our housekeeper." John said habitually.  
  
"Unimportant. Did you bring the customer list?" Sherlock demanded as John waved Greg into the room. He crossed the room and sat beside Sherlock on the sofa, John was on the arm chair trying to coax the bottle teet between Jay's lips - she was being stubborn and refusing the bottle.  
"Yeah I did, you really think it was a customer? Only - the people who buy children toys aren't generally the sort of people who murder a bloke and hang him from his shop ceiling." He put forward.  
"I'm not ruling it out." Sherlock grunted.  
  
"Would you please eat something?" John pleaded.  
"I'm not hungry right now." Sherlock snapped waspishly.  
"Not you, her." John sighed. Greg dragged his eyes from the photographs Sherlock was surveying and turned his attention to Jay.   
"Well hello, gorgeous." He said brightly. "Can Uncle Greg have a cuddle?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, this child had acquired far more 'aunties' and 'uncles' than John and Sherlock had siblings. Uncle Greg and Aunty Molly were not relatives, Sherlock thought it more than a little ridiculous.  
"Yeah, see if you can get her to eat." John did not hesitate to pass her over, bottle and all. Greg took her happily, settling her on his lap and trying to convince her that her bottle was good for her by cooing in baby-talk at her. John had to admit the next twenty minutes or so were odd, sitting about waiting for Sherlock to sift through facts in his head was really par the course, sitting about waiting for Sherlock to sift through facts in his head, with a small baby between them was not. It was strange how Jay had sort of seeped into their every day lives.  
  
Eventually Sherlock sighed.   
"I have no clue, I'll take another look in the morning when I've had a few hours sleep, maybe run some tests on the ropes used to tie him up." He said. Both Greg and John stopped and stared, slack jawed as Sherlock folded the evidence file away.  
"You're... actually taking a break?" Greg asked incredulously.  
"The man is dead, he can wait a few more hours and you are utterly incompetent when it comes to feeding my daughter so hand her over." Sherlock bristled. John felt an odd swell of pride, he knew that part of this was for show, that as soon as Greg left he'd peruse the case file again, but he also had the feeling part of it was brutally honest. Sherlock obviously didn't like other people being in charge of Jay. He wanted to feed her. Greg passed her to Sherlock carefully, she took the bottle almost immediately from him.  
"Awkward creature." John said affectionately.  
"Me or her?" Sherlock smirked. John rolled his eyes.  
"Oh get a room you two." Laughed Greg, standing up. John felt his ears burn slightly as he realised Greg had thought they were flirting. He hadn't meant it like that, and Sherlock almost certainly hadn't.  
  
"I'd best be off, text me if you figure anything out, and I'll have some rope samples sent over in the morning, yeah?" Sherlock glanced at John apprehensively. No dangerous experiments was the rule. John shrugged, he couldn't see how analysing a rope could be too harmful.  
"Yes. That would be appreciated." Sherlock said curtly. "As would a cup of coffee." He told John, then he paused, glanced at Greg then back at John. "Please." He added slightly exasperatedly - but sounding at least a little genuine. Greg grinned, a pure, warm smile from deep within. He patted John on the shoulder before he left.   
  
The air felt strangely heavy, the tension was too thick. John tried to crack a joke.  
"If I'd known adopting a child together was all it took for you to show me gratitude we should have done it ages ago." Sherlock furrowed his brow, staring at John quite intensely.  
"I am grateful. You knew that." He said firmly, without an inflection - it was not a question. John nodded awkwardly.  
"Yeah I guess... uh, coffee right." He mumbled embarrassedly, before darting off into the kitchen to set about making a coffee, black, two sugars - as always when Sherlock was on a case.  
  
John was right on this one though, he often was when it came to predicting Sherlock's behaviour, Jay had barely finished her bottle and Sherlock was flicking through the case file again, bobbing Jay on one knee with her head against his chest. John fought back a smile, realising Jay had succeeded where others had not, she came before the work in Sherlock's eyes - only just, but she did.  
  
\----------------  
  
John ended up going to a Mothercare store in Central London the following Thursday after work. He picked up a new mobile (one that rotated both ways, hopefully Sherlock wouldn't see a reason to dismantle this one) with stars and moons on it - it was not scientifically correct but with Sherlock's knowledge of the Solar System it probably wouldn't matter. He was examining some baby monitors when a pram bumped into his leg.  
"Sorry!" A woman said apologetically, pulling the buggy back a bit. "It's got a dodgy wheel." She said, embarrassed. John looked up at her, she was fairly short with dark brown curls and thick rimmed glasses. There was a boy of about 18 months old in the push chair.  
"Not a problem, ours veers to the left." He chuckled.   
"Hiya!" The little boy said cheerily. John smiled at him.   
"Hiya." He said back, mimicking like Sherlock had taught him to do with Jay. The woman shifted past him slightly, to look at some of the sensory toys next to the monitors John had been viewing. John turned back and was reading the battery instructions when something hit him in the small of his back.  
  
He span around to see the young boy with his arm poised in the air, and a dummy on the floor by his feet.  
"Ah, excuse me Miss." John picked it up and as she turned to him he handed it back to her.   
"Oh for... sorry, he's always doing it." She sighed long-sufferingly and put it in the hood of the pram, searching through her bag for a clean one.  
"I was thinking about starting my little girl on a dummy but there's a mixed opinion on them." John said conversationally as the woman bent down and popped another dummy in her son's mouth.  
"Joey wouldn't be without his. You wouldn't know it for all he chucks them about but he cries if he can't have one... though he is getting a bit old for one. I'm Alice, by the way." She introduced herself.  
"John." He offered his hand and she shook it warmly. Joe looked up at them in fascination.  
  
"How old's your girl?" Alice asked warmly.  
"She's about a month old now."   
"Oh then I'd definitely start her on one, it reduces the risk of cot-death and shuts them up if they get a bit uppity, always helped Joey sleep through the night... it can cause issues with breast-feeding though."  
"Ah, she's bottle-fed." John paused before adding awkwardly. "Her mother's not exactly around any more." Alice suddenly looked quite sympathetic.  
"Oh? Well the only thing I noticed health wise was that he was a bit more prone to ear-infections, but the occasional ear-infection's preferable to constantly being woken in the night." She smiled kindly.  
  
"If you ask the leader of your baby group they'll give you the proper pros and cons." She prompted.  
"Ah... don't attend a baby group. I don't really know many other parents actually..." John admitted, placing the monitors in his basket, it would do good to have an extra pair of ears around the house in case Sherlock withdrew completely for whatever reason. The only other parent John really knew of was the woman across the street who had a newborn daughter - and he only ever really saw her in passing.  
"They run a parent-baby group every Sunday morning at the nursery on Sage Street, for newborns to three year olds, you should pop in and join us some time." She offered. John smiled flirtatiously at her.  
"Sounds good... I'll see you there, Alice." After she left the store, John bought the mobile, the monitors and a pack of cheap dummies.  
  
Sherlock was much less keen on the idea of a pacifier.  
"Doesn't it give them buck teeth? And stop them feeding? She's a fussy eater as it is, we don't want to discourage her further. Why are they all blue? Are we trying not to resign her to gender stereotypes?" He ranted, he had approved of the baby monitors as an additional purchase, but the dummies appeared to be causing him great consternation.  
"Well she doesn't have any teeth yet, I'm not sure about the feeding thing but I thought we could try it and see." John explained. "And the only reason they're blue is that the store was out of pink ones, there's no deep psychological reasoning behind it." He shrugged. "Anyway, blue suits her." It did, he honestly had to say, her dark hair and bright blue eyes were always drawing attention when offset with a blue outfit. John had been consciously buying them for a while. He didn't call her Blue Jay for nothing.  
  
He decided not to mention the baby group until he'd done a little research, googling it on his laptop. It was an open group he didn't need to register and would be able to just show up, three pounds a session - paid on the day and that included a cuppa and biscuits for the parents if they wanted one.   
"I know it's not really your thing..." He started uncertainly. "But they run a baby and toddler group on Sundays, not too far from here..."  
"A room full of gossipy mothers and screaming infants? Pass." Sherlock said dismissively, eyeing a few profiles on some of the shopkeeper's customers - he could find no reason that any of them would have murdered the victim. Jay had been unceremoniously plonked in front of the washing machine as Sherlock had been right, the noise soothed her. She was not asleep but she seemed quite content to sit there in her car-seat, watching the clothes go round. John swore their laundry had doubled since she arrived.   
  
"Well yes, but I was thinking I could take her. It's only for a few hours a week and it'd give her a chance to meet other kids and socialize a bit..." John glanced at Sherlock, who appeared to be barely listening, deceptive though - Sherlock always listened, and he always heard more than was said. "Plus it'd give you a few baby-free hours to get some work done..."  
"My work is not hindered by her presence, it's hindered by the lack of suspects and/or motive..." He grumbled in annoyance.   
"You could go down to the Yard, see the evidence for yourself... he's not been cremated yet, Molly might let you look at the body rather than just the photos..." John offered, knowing just how to tempt the detective. Sherlock had been in a bad mood for days over this case, complaining about second hand evidence and Scotland Yard's 'sheer incompetence!' Sherlock frowned, abandoning the table full of profiles, he went and picked Jay up.  
  
"I suppose if I can trust anybody with her sole care for a few hours, it's going to be you." He sighed, bringing her through to join them. She clutched at the lapel of Sherlock's jacket as he sat down.  
"You're really protective over her, aren't you?" John smiled affectionately, leaning closer to Sherlock and Jay, he placed one finger on her nose and said "Beep!" She jolted slightly in surprise and John thought he saw an attempt at a smile.  
"Aren't parents supposed to be?" Sherlock asked.   
"It's not a bad thing, Sherlock. It's... cute." John told him, Sherlock quirked an eyebrow in response, he'd been called many things in his life but 'cute' was not one of them. Sherlock sighed again, in resignation.  
"Fine." He said decisively. He turned Jay to face him and looked her in the eye. "Small person, you're to work on your social skills at this group on Sunday," She pulled a face, she was getting quite good at that lately, screwing up her tiny little features. "I know, I don't see the point either but apparently Daddy knows best." He spoke so seriously that John nearly forgot to ask.  
  
"Oh yeah, about that. What is she going to call us, when she learns to speak?" He questioned.   
"Assuming she progresses at the standard rate she'll likely just call us both 'dada' or 'mama' as it's a simple syllable..." Sherlock started, quoting from the baby book again.  
"I meant to differentiate. When she's a little older. We can't both be 'Daddy' she'll get confused." Sherlock paused, as though he hadn't really given it much though.  
"I'd assume you're 'Daddy' and I'm..." Sherlock trailed off, frowning. Uncertain. He didn't know what he was.  
"Father?" John suggested.   
"Too austere." He dismissed.  
"Papa?"  
"Ugh, too European." Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust. John had to think for a moment.  
"Dad?" Sherlock paused, he did not push this suggestion aside as quickly as the others, instead furrowing his brow and looking for all the world like he was stuck on a Sudoku puzzle (not that Sherlock ever got stuck on the Sudoku " _B_ _oring, trivial, not really a puzzle at all!_ "). He nodded incredibly slowly, still mulling it over.   
  
"I could... tolerate 'Dad'." He decided eventually.  
"Settled then." John said decisively. "Daddy and Dad." He smiled warmly at the pair of them, the names seemed like a contract - a vow to look after her. "I like it..."  
"Ah!" Jay agreed chirpily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Been really down lately, not really been up to writing so it's a good thing I was a few chapters ahead on this. Reviews would be super nice.


	6. The Baby Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a few concerns.

Friday felt like an eternity since John had started back at work, even though it had only been a week. He trudged up the stairs to 221b, no longer panicked that he'd find the flat blown to pieces or something. In fact when he walked in, Sherlock was crouched on the play mat with Jay.  
"Evening." John greeted, peering at the activity. Sherlock had foregone all of her toys and the play mat was scattered with a strange assortment of items: a screwed up ball of tinfoil, a small clear box with two five pence coins in it, a sealed plastic test tube, half full of a blue viscous liquid and a small bundle of cinnamon sticks wrapped in a piece of purple cloth.   
"Evening. How was work?" Sherlock asked absently, shaking the coin box at Jay. John's jaw dropped.  
  
"What? Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?" He asked in playful incredulity. Sherlock shot him a half scowl and continued entertaining the one month old. "You never ask how work went..."  
"Fine, don't tell me." Sherlock dismissed.  
"No it was... alright I guess." John shrugged sticking the kettle on. "Diagnosed a woman with post-natal depression..." He added, conversationally.  
"Ms One-Twenty-Seven?" Sherlock asked knowingly, referring to the woman across the street by her house number.  
"How do you do that?" John wondered, amazed. Yes it had been the lady across the road, but honestly, was nothing sacred? "And no I can't confirm that it was Ms One-Twenty-Seven as you call her, as I'd be breaching Patient confidentiality... but then I guess that doesn't really apply when you live with the world's only consulting detective." He sighed, stirring them both a cup of tea.   
  
"What did you opt for then? Therapy or drugs?" Sherlock asked, switching to the bundle of cinnamon sticks, waving it under Jay's button nose, she wrinkled it in either displeasure or delight - hard to tell.  
"Pardon?" John queried, bringing the mugs through.  
"Assuming you referred her for therapy as she's breast feeding, obvious - every time I've seen her she's had a milk soaked blouse." Jay gave a happy squeal and John couldn't help but smile, grateful for the fact that he and Sherlock had not had to endure the hormonal rollercoaster that was pregnancy and its after effects. They'd been rather lucky, really, you know, if you ignored the fact they'd been spectacularly unlucky.  
"I recommended a therapist and for her to make regular check-ins with us. Poor thing... she seemed really down. What's in the test tube?" John worried.  
"Oh, washing up liquid." Sherlock dismissed.  
"Surprised you even know where it lives." John teased. Sherlock rolled his eyes.   
  
"I'm testing her senses. The tinfoil reflects light and makes noise, her hearing's perfect look." Sherlock crinkled the tinfoil ball on the left side of Jay's head and she tilted her head very slightly towards it, looking curious and mildly annoyed at not being able to follow it properly. Quick as a flash Sherlock swapped the ball to his other hand and scrunched it.  
"Eh!" Jay shifted towards it, having not quite mastered a full turn of her head, but she reached for it. Sherlock fetched her cuddly rabbit soother, something Amy had bought her and gave her that to hold as he joined John on the sofa, taking his tea gratefully.  
"Any progress on the toy shop murder?" John asked.  
"Frustratingly little." Sherlock sighed, still watching Jay, sucking on the edge of the cloth rabbit.   
  
"This... baby group on Sunday..." Sherlock began cautiously. "What if she gets bullied?" John nearly choked on his tea.  
"Sherlock, she's a month old! Nobody's going to bully a one month old..." He said, bewildered that Sherlock, so intelligent and sensible, could think such a thing.  
"What about when she's older? School? What if she's bullied then?" Sherlock ploughed on determinedly. "What do we do?"  
"We deal with it as it happens Sherlock..."  
"What if she's bullied for being ours?" Sherlock asked, a fierceness in his tone.  
"What for... for having two dads? Kids these days don't really care Sherlock, and even if they do... What's brought all this on?" John's concern was obvious on his face and Sherlock sighed heavily. He hadn't really wanted to hide this from John but showing him was not going to be easy. Reluctantly Sherlock picked up John's laptop and brought up the blog, thrusting the evidence at John.   
  
"Your sister's been... talking." Sherlock muttered. John blinked and scrolled through, Harry had made a comment asking John to put up some photos of Jay... it had 189 responses. John gulped, sure enough there was the beginning comments of  
' _Jay_?'  
' _Jay Who?_ '  
' _Who is Jay? Can we see pictures?_ ' and then Harry, again, saying how Jay was their daughter and her niece. John groaned, scanning the pages and pages of comments. Most of them were congratulatory, some disbelieving - claiming their blog had been hacked, and a few of them, only a few - hate speech or ignorance.  
' _Who let these homos adopt a baby!_ '  
' _I always knew they were queer! Unfollowing the blog!_ '  
' _Oh my goodness that poor child,_ _I'm not homophobic but I believe_ _every baby deserves a mother it's not right what you two are doing, please, please Sherlock and John, send her back_ _-_ _let her find a mummy_ _ **and**_ _a daddy_ ' John closed the page.  
  
"It was going to get out eventually anyway." John said with a frown, making a mental note to call Harry and admonish her later. "We couldn't keep her a secret forever, we're... always in the papers and stuff so... we don't publicize her or force her into the limelight but if we're asked - stick to our story and do our best." He reassured. Sherlock looked severely uncomfortable.   
  
"Look, Sherlock it's... it's good that you're worried but it's not necessary. Really. It's our job to shield her, right? So we do that, we keep her away from the hate and the bad things until she'd old enough to take it on by herself. We raise her right."  
"We've put a target on her tiny back." Sherlock said coldly. "Any and all my many enemies... I should never have brought her home." He shook his head, his tone still icy. John actually jolted in shock. Jesus, Ms One-Twenty-Seven wasn't the only one with post-baby-blues. John stared at Sherlock, hard, trying to force the detective to look at him with just a glance. When it didn't work, he reached forward and placed his fingers under Sherlock's chin, forcing Sherlock to look up and directly at him.  
  
Blue eyes met startlingly pale silvery ones in a staring contest.  
"Oi. None of this regret shit, alright? We knew what we were signing up for. Let's get one thing straight - your enemies know you far too well to risk hurting someone you love. Those Americans that hurt Mrs Hudson... remember? Moriarty, some random serial killer, hell if Irene Adler rose from the dead and walked in this door right now - they would know not to fuck with any child of Sherlock Holmes if they wanted to live to tell the tale." John told him firmly. "And the rest of it... homophobia or jealous kids or... whatever. It doesn't matter, Sherlock." John promised. Sherlock nodded in agreement.  
"I forget myself, sometimes." He said softly. "I am... pleased you are around to remind me." John realised that he was still holding Sherlock's face and quickly let it go, flushing a furious red himself.  
"Yeah well, what kind of a fake homosexual boyfriend would I be if I didn't put you in your place every so often, eh?" He asked jokingly. Sherlock smirked and said nothing.  
  
\-------------  
  
The nursery on Sage Street was rather prettier on the inside, a typical unassuming red brick building to the passer-by with soft pastel coloured interior walls, a plush carpet and tiny little activity centres in the corner of every room. John found himself smiling at the thought of Jay, in a year or two, standing on one of the little steps to reach the water play area or the sand pit, like the little blond boy in the dungarees was doing.  
  
John paid in and settled himself down with a cup of tea, it was weaker that the stuff at home but it would do. Jay had absolutely zero interest in anything going on around them, sucking her fist contentedly.  
"Oh, don't do that." John said, rifling in the baby bag for one of the blue dummies he'd bought the other day. What Sherlock didn't know wouldn't hurt him. John uncapped the pacifier and popped it in her mouth.  
"You decided to start her on one then?" Asked a voice and John turned to see Alice, smiling at him. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail today, with a few curls left cascading to frame her face.  
"Hello again." John said as she slipped down to sit at the table with them.  
"And who's this?" She asked, peering into the pram.  
"Ah, this is my daughter, Blue Jay." John introduced her, feeling an odd swell of pride at calling her that in public. His daughter. He liked it.  
"Unusual name." Alice commented, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.  
"Oh... no, yeah, her name's Jay. Blue Jay's sort of become a nickname..." John hadn't even realised he did it that time.  
  
It was only when they were half way through an animated conversation that John realised he'd actively avoided mentioning Sherlock at all. It shouldn't have filled him with the twisted guilt that rose in his stomach, but Alice was obviously interested, she kept leaning forward and touching his arm, giggling at his stupid comments and fiddling with her hair. She was gorgeous too, a little dressed down and conservative, but the innocent factor worked for her.   
"She's beautiful." Alice said when the subject changed back to Jay.  
"Stunning, though she's going a bit bald at the back." John admitted.  
"Oh they do at that age, on their backs all the time, get her a hat or a bonnet, nobody will know." She smiled broadly. "She's quite dark isn't she?"  
"Hm? Her hair? Yeah." John leaned down and ran his fingers through Jay's soft dark hair, still hovering uncertainly between dark brown and black, she raised her head slightly at the sensation.  
"Was her mother dark then?" Alice prompted.   
"Oh... no, Amy was blonde."  
  
"That's unusual." Alice glanced over her shoulder to where her son was pulling another child's hair. "Joey, sweetheart we don't pull!" She scolded, the tiny boy looked shocked at his mother's omnipresence and quickly ran to the soft play area. "Nightmare. Anyway, two blondes?"  
"Well, Jay's not exactly _mine_." John admitted. Alice's eyebrows sky-rocketed. "I adopted her..." I. I not we. John really ought to tell her the truth but she was looking at him like he was such a hero that he heart caught in his throat. "It's a long story..." Well - that much was true, whichever way you sliced it.  
  
John did his best to ignore the knot of guilt in his chest - technically he wasn't doing anything wrong flirting with Alice, he was still single if not officially, he was a red blooded male and she was a stunning woman... still, it didn't sit right with him.  
  
The next two weeks and their sessions he did try to bring Sherlock up, but it never seemed the right time, and she was so sympathetic - single mother, she knew how hard it was, or so she said.   
  
The Friday before Jay turned six weeks old, John mentioned something to Sherlock in passing.  
"We have to get Jay registered, I was thinking of popping down and doing it tomorrow, the registry office isn't too far and she'll enjoy the walk."  
"I'll come too." Sherlock said, slamming a book closed in frustration. The title claimed it was the Official British Census records for the past 100 years, John had no idea what that had to do with the case, but then again, following Sherlock's train of thought was never easy considering it seemed to run on about fifteen different tracks.  
"You sure? It'll be boring it's just filling out paperwork and..."  
"I'm sure. I'm going mad here all day."  
"You were already mad, Sherlock." John teased affectionately - coming from anybody else, Sherlock would glare, but he knew John meant no harm by it so let it slide. He sat down heavily in the arm chair and peered into Jay's travel cot as though she, fast asleep, were a more interesting case.  
  
"What are we going to call her, Sherlock?" John asked eventually.  
"Jay." Sherlock said as if it were obvious.  
"Well yes, Jay... I meant - her last name..." He trailed off, because it felt like an odd question to be asking. Sherlock shrugged offhandedly.  
"Watson-Holmes sounds better than Holmes-Watson but I'm not particularly bothered either way." He dismissed, waving his hand. "A rose by any other name, isn't that the expression?" Sherlock was not one to wax lyrical, but he thought the quote fitting.  
"Oh... yeah Watson-Holmes is fine I just meant well... are we including MacDonald?" John asked, and the question weighed heavily upon them both. Sherlock actually looked as though he was having some sort of an internal battle.  
  
"As soon as she gets old enough to understand where babies come from - she will realise she is adopted." He said after a long moment of reflection. "I have no qualms with telling her the truth, however... I would like to delay that moment of realisation as long as possible." He steepled his fingers below his chin, staring at her as he spoke. "If her name is different, she will know, as soon as she can read and write, they teach children their names at three or four these days... I respect her true lineage, and mean no ill towards Amy or Mack... but I don't believe it fair to burden a child with that knowledge until she is ready." He took a deep breath before looking at John for moral guidance. "Am I being selfish?"  
"No. You have a point it's just..." John trailed off awkwardly. "I don't want to feel like I'm taking that right away from her, the right to ask questions..."  
"Then when she is... eleven or twelve and is entitled to the truth - the whole truth, because if anybody deserves it, it's her, we give her the option of including MacDonald in her name - if she wants to legally change it we'll sign the papers and allow it. Until then, I would prefer she not have to carry her traumatic circumstances around with her."   
  
John supposed Sherlock was right, really. In her crib, Jay slept on, blissfully unaware she was being discussed.   
  
The paperwork _was_ boring, and Sherlock barely held his tongue when the woman made a cutting remark about the birth certificate having to contain the _biological_ parents' names. It was worth it though, because after an hour of having to show adoption forms and signing hospital records, they were presented with a birth certificate.   
  
_**Jay Watson-Holmes**_  
  
John didn't know who felt more pride, himself or Sherlock - if he had to place a bet he'd say Sherlock, because he'd been sulking over being stuck on the toy-shop murder case but smiled and joked casually nearly the entire walk home. John pushed the pram, while Jay enjoyed the world around her. The past week or so she'd been much more responsive to anything and everything, if Sherlock's phone rang she looked around to find the source of the noise, if you turned the lights out before she was fully asleep she became startled and woke up crying, but best of all she was starting to recognise Sherlock and John over other people. It ought not to be such a thrill but they were both secretly touched when she wailed and reached for them if anybody else held her.  
  
Sherlock dipped down and picked a daisy from the street corner near Baker Street.  
"Don't give her that, she'll eat it." John warned but Sherlock was staring at the small white flower with narrowed eyes, as though it had personally wronged him. They turned the corner and John's heart stuttered to a stop - the street, their street, Baker Street - was swarming with police. "Oh god, Mrs Hudson." John said, voicing his concern aloud. Sherlock tossed the daisy to the ground and raced ahead, artfully dodging the police tape and paramedics.  
"Sherlock!" Lestrade called as he pushed through the crowd.   
"What's happened?" Sherlock demanded as John caught up with Jay in the stroller.  
"Suspected murder suicide, don't go in." Lestrade ordered. John felt a weight like a stone in his stomach as they reached the epicentre of the hubbub. Number One Twenty Seven Baker Street.  
  
Sherlock continued onwards, but Lestrade grabbed his arm and tugged him back.  
"Sherlock, I mean it - _don't_ go in there." He warned. "No parent should have to see that."  
"Sherlock..." John cautioned, but there was no stopping the detective, his expression steeled as he forced his way past the two officers stationed at the front door and raced up the stairs. The building's architecture was eerily similar to 221b, the decoration was different but it felt wrong because he knew what lay upstairs. Just because he knew what to expect did not mean he was prepared for it. The bathroom door, identical to Sherlock's own, was wide open, and even without crossing the threshold of the room Sherlock could see the blood red water disguising the naked body of Ms One-Twenty-Seven, he'd never bothered to learn her name. The bathroom was littered with little yellow evidence markers showing the forensics team had been in.  
  
Sherlock walked past the bathroom and into the bedroom, against the wall, in the same position as Jay's, was a crib and his feet carried him to it instinctively. He knew he wasn't to touch, there was a pillow laying beside the cot in an evidence bag so it was obvious what had happened but it didn't soften the blow of the view. In the crib, blue eyes wide open even in death was the body of a baby girl, a few weeks older than Jay. Her hollow eyes were blood-shot and her lips were blue, she'd been suffocated. Sherlock shook with something he couldn't identify. He'd seen children's bodies before but there was something different now. He felt simultaneously heartbroken, yet angry enough to smash something.   
"Don't disturb the evidence." Said a voice from the doorway. Sherlock spun on his heel and glared at Donovan who was leaning against the door frame with her arms across her chest. "Tragic." She said softly, eyes skimming the crib. Sherlock could not find a retort, simply walked past her and back down the stairs that were not the stairs of 221b no matter how similar they were, and out into the sunlight.  
  
John stood, looking concerned, still standing dutifully by Jay's pram. Sherlock glanced at them, then away, before crossing the street and going into the convenience store opposite.  
"Is he... okay?" Lestrade asked worriedly. "I did tell him not to go in."   
"Yes well, he never listens." John said with a frown, eyes on the shop. Moments later Sherlock emerged, sparking a cigarette. Ah... mark of stress. John couldn't admonish him for it, not really, and as long as Jay was well away from it...  
"I'll go." Lestrade said, rubbing John's shoulder and crossing the street to speak to his friend. John, slightly apart from the throng of officials sat on a set of steps, looking into Jay's pram.   
  
"The thing about your dad, Blue Jay." John told her quietly. "Is that the thing I like most about him, is the thing he thinks is his biggest flaw. The fact is: He's human."  
"I've seen this scene before, you know." Came a voice and John looked up to see Sally stood beside them, looking at the two men, sharing a cigarette in silence. "Holmes and Lestrade - after a particularly vicious or brutal murder they smoke... even when they've quit... but I'll tell you something... it's never Sherlock who looks like that." She spoke very softly, very kindly. "Who looks broken... shaken... looks like he's lost his faith in humanity, that's usually Lestrade." She continued. She then crouched down and peeked at Jay for the first time. "You've changed him you know... you two." She wriggled her fingers in front of Jay's eyes and she watched avidly, captivated by the motion.  
"Yeah... mostly her." John agreed.  
"No... even before her. You know... Lestrade always said he'd change one day... I always thought he'd snap."  
"I know you did." John said shortly, because he hated it when people doubted Sherlock, he didn't deserve it.  
"I'm glad to say I was wrong." Sally smiled at Jay before turning to John.   
  
"You know what you need to do?" She asked him. John sighed, because whether he wanted her to or not Sally was about to give him advice. "He's hurting. You need to get him out of that massive head of his. Take him home, make him a cup of tea, then shag his bloody brains out." John barked out a laugh that seemed massively inappropriate among the business of the crime scene. "Anything to stop him thinking." Sally said warmly. She clapped her hand on John's shoulder as he stood. "And congratulations on the whole... baby thing." She added.   
"Yeah... thanks. Hey uh... watch her a second would you?" He glanced over at Sherlock and Lestrade, they were about finished with the cigarette now.   
"What! No, no, no! I'm rubbish with kids, they hate me... really not a good idea." Sally panicked.   
"Two seconds, yeah?" John darted across the street, as far as he could tell, Sherlock and Greg had not said more than two words to one another and as John approached, Sherlock avoided his eye.  
  
He wasn't entirely sure why he did it, it could have been Sally's advice or it could have been instinct, but he wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him into an awkward embrace. Awkward because for a long moment Sherlock did not respond at all, just stood stiff in John's arms, hesitantly he began to relax and returned the action, arms settling around the smaller man and laying his chin against John's hair, inhaling lightly. They seemed to stay like that for an eternity, certainly long enough for Lestrade's silly, affectionate smile to burn into John's memory. Sally crossed the street with Jay.  
"She started crying..." She said embarrassedly, "I didn't do anything, I swear!" She added as John and Sherlock finally let go of each other.  
"Yes, she's reached the attachment phase. If you're not me or John she gets uppity." Sherlock said, bending down and removing Jay from her pram, holding her close to him. "It's her bed time anyway." He said and swept off up the steps of 221b without so much as a backward glance. John sighed and shook his head.  
  
"I'll see you lot later." He said, acknowledging Lestrade and Sally's presence at the very least. By the time he got the pram unfolded and upstairs, Sherlock was in his room. John had long since given up knocking, there was just no point any more, Sherlock's bedroom was Jay's bedroom and he had to go in to see to her. He slipped wordlessly in beside Sherlock who was laying her down. She reached sleepily up for him and he held one of her tiny hands for a long moment until she settled.  
  
John stood beside Sherlock, against the side of Jay's crib as the two held hands. She was trying valiantly to keep her eyes open but they were closing of their own accord as she began to drift. The hand that was not holding Jay's was white knuckled against the side of the cot, John glanced from the little girl, to Sherlock, and back to Jay. Sally's words rang in John's ears... ' _he's hurting_ ' it would be so easy for him to place his hand over Sherlock's... just a mark of support really, a friendly gesture. Except, the thought alone made his heart race in a way he really didn't want to analyse. Sherlock seemed frozen where he was, letting Jay slip quietly into sleep, still clutching his hand.   
  
Then Sherlock did it.  
  
While John was debating why it was so difficult for him to just offer Sherlock some comfort, Sherlock made the move John was stressing over. He released his grip on the crib and moved his hand over the top of John's, resting it lightly on his.   
  
John felt his heart was in his throat and he didn't know why. Sherlock sighed gently, eyes still glued to their infant daughter.   
"Tea?" John offered, in an attempt to break the tension. Sherlock hummed vaguely, Jay had dropped off completely - and the spell was broken, he moved away from John, away from the crib and into the kitchen. John's hand still felt oddly warm, Sherlock's palm imprinted on him like an invisible shadow - why was that, a really simple gesture, so much different from the hug John had offered him only minutes before? He couldn't explain it, but followed Sherlock out of the room, flicking Jay's bedroom light off as he went.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: JOHNLOCK IS HAPPENING! STUFF IS GOING ON! ASDFGHJKL. I should not be so excited by my own stories but I just love John and Sherlock with a baby girl. I've always said that if anybody gets the urge to art from my stories - feel free! You don't have to be super talented or anything just know if you want to draw anything Some Assembly Required related - tag me, I'll be super chuffed!
> 
> Also - TODAY (September 18th) IS MY BIRTHDAY!!! So I'm giving you all a present in updating this and In Session, you should give me a present in return by leaving a review :D


	7. A Distinct Lack Of Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds out about Alice, the ensuing argument is surprisingly less of a bang and more of a fizzle.

  
John spent the next few weeks working, taking Jay to the baby group (and subsequently chatting with Alice) and trying to deal with Sherlock who was in a massive strop - the toyshop murder had hit a brick wall and no matter which way Sherlock turned it - no suspects meant no case. So it was put on the back burner, meaning the detective lay about the flat moaning about the crippling ennui that had set in and how nothing was interesting any more. John scowled at him, he'd had a rough enough day at work and really did not have the energy to fight with Sherlock on this. Still Sherlock droned on.  
"If you're so bored, go play with your daughter." John finally snapped at him. Sherlock raised his head vaguely in the direction of Jay's bouncer.   
"She's entertained." He dismissed.  
"Yeah well it's her nap-time in a minute. Put the stereo on." John urged, settling down on the sofa.  
  
It was Monday, and at yesterday's baby group his sort-of flirting with Alice had resulted in her giving him his phone number. It was written on a tiny slip of paper in his jeans pocket, but it felt like a lead weight... a lead weight that was on fire because every time he thought it through it felt wrong, wrong enough that it burned so intensely John thought it must glow, that Sherlock would be able to see it like a brand on his backside.  
  
He didn't know why he felt so guilty - he was not actually Sherlock's boyfriend, he was single, he had needs and he hadn't dated anybody in the nearly 3 months since they'd brought Jay home... hadn't dated anybody for a long while before that actually. Still, he carried it round like a tawdry secret, glancing at it occasionally on bathroom breaks or moments of silence and he was convinced Sherlock could see it on his face.  
  
"The entertainment system is broken." Sherlock said unhelpfully. John rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
"Why is it broken?" He dared to ask.  
"Didn't touch it." Sherlock swore, shrugging. John groaned and got up, fiddling with the ancient system in an attempt to get a reaction... nothing. The plugs were all in tact, the wires undamaged but the thing was silent no matter how many knobs John twiddled. The radio wouldn't go on and the CD player lit up but didn't play (John had actually gone out and bought a Katy Perry CD, which annoyed Sherlock to no end, but worked wonders on Jay) "Told you." Sherlock drawled, bored.   
  
Jay was almost able to hold her head up completely on her own now, and turned properly rather than just tilting her head when there was noise or someone was speaking to her. She babbled incessantly and chattered on in her own little world. Sherlock had even told John that she was starting to store words in her memory too, it would be a long time before she could use them properly but she was already absorbing information at lightning speed, so John refrained from swearing at Sherlock - even though he really wanted to. The pillock had been unbearable as of late. Almost on cue, Jay began whimpering and whining, John sighed, he could really do with some proper rest.   
  
Seeing as Sherlock was making absolutely no motion to get up, John crossed the room and freed Jay from her bouncer. She clung to him making pitiful sort of mewing noises but not really crying.  
"Alright Blue Jay, I know, I know..." He soothed, wandering around the living room, side stepping Sherlock's case files and books (he'd made a tower out of them at one point - he was that bored). He rubbed her back gently to settle her, aware of Sherlock's eyes on them as he walked. At eleven weeks old, Jay had outgrown nearly all of her original clothes, John had reluctantly agreed to give most of them to charity - he agreed with keeping sentimental things for her, for when she was older, but he could not justify keeping everything Amy had bought her there just wasn't room. Since then, John had most bought her blue clothing, he thought it was cute, even if Sherlock bemoaned him for it.   
  
"Blue for Blue Jay, anyway it suits her." John had said. "You don't like it, you take her shopping."  
"People keep mistaking her for a boy." The detective had grumbled, not so much indignant at people mistaking her for a baby boy, just indignant in general, the way he usually was after a case foiled him.  
"Then stick a ribbon on her head." John had just shrugged it off - so Sherlock had gone out and purchased an array of headbands and ribbons and bows, all of which had worked their way into Jay's everyday wardrobe. She'd already thrown up on one of her baby grows today, so John had changed her into a little white one with blue floral embroidery and left her wearing a denim flower headband. She looked adorable... or she would if her face weren't screwed up and over tired. John bobbed her in vain, but she wasn't having any of it.   
  
"You could help you know." John snapped at Sherlock who sighed long sufferingly (prat) and got to his feet as though it were a great task, holding his arms out for her. John transferred her carefully and she began to cry in earnest. Jay spent the next half hour reducing two grown men to cooing, shushing and lulling but to no avail, the harder they tried the louder she got. Mrs Hudson knocked on the door at one point to ask if everything was okay, Sherlock had told her to get lost.  
"Sherlock!" John scolded. "We're fine, Mrs Hudson... sorry about the noise. I'll come down and see you in a bit when she's dropped off, yeah?" He called through the door as he heard the old lady click her teeth and head back down the stairs. John glared at Sherlock who sighed again. He didn't mean to lose his temper, but Jay's screaming was starting to wear on them both. John knew Sherlock would apologise later, he liked Mrs Hudson, and she would not be too offended - she was more than used to his temper tantrums.   
  
"Nothing for it then." John said reluctantly. He didn't move to take Jay from Sherlock's arms, instead he leaned over, stroking her hair while Sherlock held her. He took a deep breath before piping up. " _Do you ever feel like a plastic bag? Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?_ " Sherlock's jaw dropped as John began to sing, completely and utterly floored by hearing the notes from his partner's mouth. Jay took a few moments to register what was going on and quietened in the middle of the first verse, gurgling into Sherlock's neck appreciatively. John's voice lilted upwards, singing with a smile as he worked his way through the song.  
  
By the time he got to the chorus, a far too deep  
" _Baby you're a firework..._ " Sherlock was in stitches, trying to stop himself from laughing as he stroked circles on Jay's shoulders while she drifted, she was sparko'd long before John finished the song.  
"I didn't know you could sing." Sherlock said incredulously as John trailed off.   
"That wasn't singing that was talking to a tune." John laughed and Sherlock laid Jay gently in her carry cot.   
"No I mean... I didn't _know_ you could sing. How could I not know? I know everything about you..." He said indignantly.   
"Sherlock not even you can possibly know everything about another person. It's infeasible." Sherlock began to open his mouth to argue. "I'm thirty seven." He told Sherlock. "That's sixty minutes in every hour, twenty four hours in a day, three hundred and sixty five days in a year that I've lived and been alive and things have happened to me. Even if you'd started chronicling every little thing I'd done from the moment you were born... you're still younger than me. It's impossible."  
  
Sherlock looked slightly annoyed and irked, he hadn't meant that so literally.   
"I meant anything of importance..."  
"And how do you categorize what's important?" John countered, tucking Jay's blanket in around her. "Because what is and isn't important changes depending on your perspective. When I first met you, whether or not I could sing wouldn't have been important, you'd have deleted it right off! You don't know _everything_ about me just like I don't know everything about you..." Sherlock thought there was an implication behind those words he did not want to face. "Hell I don't even know everything about me! I learn something new about myself every day." He said, his words still carrying a heavy weight as he thought back to the number in his pocket - he'd never have thought himself a liar.  
"I..." Sherlock began, but he couldn't find a counter argument for it.  
"Right well, now that the philosophy lesson's over, assuming you can't be bothered to get your royal arse dressed, I better go apologise to Mrs H on your behalf... I'm gonna go change first though. Try do something useful while I'm gone, yeah?" John disappeared upstairs while Sherlock was left contemplating what else he might not know about John Watson.  
  
Sherlock waited until John had left before glancing around the flat, there was a pile of baby-grows and tiny tights in front of the washing machine, he supposed he could do 'something useful' for a bit.   
  
Mrs Hudson gave John a kiss on the cheek before letting him into her flat, John lowered himself into one of her flowery armchairs as she tottered off to put the kettle on and when she returned she was carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits, bringing a smile to John's face.   
"You finally got her to stop crying then?" She asked, busying herself with handing him a teacup (also flowery).   
"Yeah, we need to fix the stereo at some point though." His phone dinged with a text, from Sherlock.  
" _Presuming blues and blacks go in the same wash? - SH_." John sighed dramatically, he didn't know why Sherlock insisted on signing all his texts 'SH', John had his number logged in his phone, he knew full well when it was Sherlock texting him. He shot Mrs Hudson an apologetic glance before texting back  
" _Don't tell me you're actually doing laundry. Dark blues - yes, light blues- no._ "   
  
"How's Jay, dear?" Mrs Hudson asked, peering at John over her tea cup.   
"She's fine, bigger every day." He smiled, the warmth of the tea nothing in comparison to the warmth in the swell of pride he got from talking about her.   
"And Sherlock?"   
"He's the same size as ever." John said playfully, but he knew what she meant and followed it up with a more serious note of. "He's not great at the minute..."  
"Of course he's not... staying in all day, every day with the baby, it's not healthy for him you know." She chided, handing John a jammy dodger. John felt the familiar pang of guilt settle in, because he knew she had a very good point - without the work, Sherlock withdrew into himself and it was under John's instruction that Sherlock had reduced his workload.  
  
"Now don't get me wrong, I think it's lovely that he's bonded so well with her, I don't think I've ever seen him this besotted with anything other than you." She continued, ignoring John's slight blush. "But he's becoming isolated, dependent on you and her. He needs human contact, or at the very least he needs a break from her... Not a big one, just a wee one." She explained, holding her thumb and forefinger apart to show him how small a wee break was, John was about to argue that separating Sherlock and Jay would be nigh on impossible but Mrs Hudson breezed on. "Now when was the last time you boys went out on a date, hm?"  
"Oh uh..." John paused, because people thus far hadn't really asked him questions about them as a couple, they asked after Jay, they asked how they were adjusting - but nobody asked about their relationship.   
"See, you can't even remember, can you?" Her eyes were kind and John felt the lie twist in his stomach once more. He hated deceiving her, she was like family.   
"No." He said honestly. "I genuinely cannot remember when we last went on a date." ' _Because it never happened._ ' his subconscious added unhelpfully.  
  
"Well it's settled then, my bingo night's been cancelled this Friday anyway, I'll take Jay for a few hours and you two go out and have a night out, drinking or dancing or whatever young people do these days."   
"Ah, I'm not sure..." John began uncertainly.  
"No buts about it John, I may be a blathering old fool but I do know a thing or two about babies and I know that however loved they are, they can put a real strain on a relationship. I'll be just fine with her for a couple of hours." She insisted. John sighed.   
"Yeah... alright I'll suggest it to him but I can't guarantee anything." Mrs Hudson smiled knowingly.  
  
"You tell that young man he's to take you on a date or you'll withhold sex until he does."  
"Mrs Hudson!" John said incredulously, both shocked and amused at the same time.   
"You forget, dear, I _was_ married for a long time." She grinned. "Maybe try a holiday too? The three of you? The seaside for a week or so - could do you the world of good! You've still got a bit of good weather left in the year, and the sea air does wonders for depression." She prompted. "And romance." She added cheekily. John smiled thinly, because it seemed unlikely he'd be able to convince Sherlock to go on a date, never mind a holiday.  
"We'll see,"  
  
"Off you pop then, and bring Jay down to see me some time in the week, I'll have to measure her again if she's growing so quickly, I can barely knit fast enough!" John smiled a little more genuinely and hugged her in thanks before darting back upstairs.  
  
The only evidence that Sherlock had moved at all was the whirr of the washing machine, other than that he was in the exact same position he'd been earlier, laying prostrate on the sofa with a metaphorical black cloud crackling over his head.  
"We're going out Friday night." John told him - it was not a question, Sherlock did not move or make any attempt to acknowledge John's existence. John frowned, looking closer to make sure the detective was not actually asleep, but no, he was definitely awake, looking more withdrawn and depressed than ever. "Angelo's sound good?"  
"A screaming child in a restaurant is a social faux pas if I'm not mistaken." Sherlock murmured.   
"We're not bringing Jay." Sherlock's eyebrows raised, looking mildly alarmed was a slight improvement from looking like he hated the world, but only slight. "Mrs Hudson's offered to take her for a bit, while you and I go out."  
"Pass." Sherlock replied, bored again.  
  
"Nope. I'm not accepting no for an answer Sherlock. I'm not having you moping about the flat any more, you've not seen natural light in three weeks!" He scolded. Sherlock shrugged, he didn't give a damn about natural light. "Besides, it'll give us a chance to talk and stuff." Sherlock scowled.  
"We talk plenty." He grumbled. "You talk too much." He added sulkily.  
"Come off it, when was the last time you and I had a conversation that wasn't about whose turn it was to feed the baby, or when she needed a nappy change? Nope, you and I are off out on Friday even if I have to drag you." John insisted. Sherlock sighed melodramatically, heaved himself off the sofa and disappeared into his bedroom without another word. John rolled his eyes - one way or another he was getting Sherlock out of the flat on Friday night.  
  
\--------------------------  
  
For the rest of the week, Sherlock was worse than ever. He barely spoke a word to John and only ventured in and out of his bedroom to deal with Jay. On Friday, when John got home from work, Sherlock was dressed up, prim and proper in dark smart trousers and a tight fitting shirt in an attractive deep wine red colour.   
"I won't be dragging you then?" John asked, smiling at Sherlock, who avoided his eye and shrugged.  
"Let's just get this over with, shall we?" He asked, as though he was dreading the night. John rolled his eyes.  
"Let me get dressed, okay and then we'll drop Jay off with Mrs H." When he vanished upstairs Sherlock settled down with Jay on his lap.  
"Whatever you do small person, don't throw up." Sherlock instructed. "You have to behave for Mrs Hudson, she's one of the good ones I assure you." Jay blinked cluelessly at him and sucked on her rabbit soother instead, John had bought her a second identical one as she gummed at the first one so mercilessly the cloth was usually pretty grim after a day or two, but she got agitated without it.  
  
Though the book had said object attachment would begin at 2-3 months, Sherlock was surprised she'd picked something so ordinary - there was nothing particularly special about the cloth rabbit attached to a handkerchief sized piece of blanket material, but she held fast to it and screamed if you tried to pull it away from her while she was conscious. Sherlock stroked her hair softly, thick at the front and thinning to almost baldness on the back where she lay her head. He smiled sadly at her and kissed her forehead, she gurgled cheerily in response. John looked pretty impressive as he descended the stairs in a navy blue shirt and black trousers. Sherlock rarely got to see him dressed up these days, as he only ever seemed to wear his nicest clothes on date nights. He nodded curtly at the shorter man, standing up, he carried Jay against his chest with one arm, and her moses basket filled with formula and a few toys tangled loosely from his free hand. Jay did not let go of her rabbit.  
  
"You two enjoy yourselves, okay?" Mrs Hudson insisted as Sherlock reluctantly handed Jay over to her. Sherlock had not been apart from her for more than few hours hour at a time since she had been born, and the stress of leaving her was evident on his face.  
"Test the temperature of the bottle on your wrist before you give her it." He pressed. "And if she can't sleep, sing to her or turn the radio on. She doesn't like the dark so leave the light on if she's not quite asleep, and she _won't_ let you take rabbit so don't even try." He continued firmly.   
"I'm sure I'll manage." She promised him. Sherlock still did not look convinced. John put his hand on Sherlock's arm.  
"They'll be fine, and she has our contact numbers in case they're not... but they will be. Come on." He said gently. Sherlock glanced down at John's hand on his bicep and frowned before nodding, he gave Mrs Hudson a kiss on the cheek and placed one last peck on Jay's hair before the two men swept off for their not-date.  
  
Sherlock seemed on edge the entire journey, even though Angelo's was not a massive trek from Baker Street. John thanked Angelo on behalf of both of them as he lead them to their window seat and added a candle, John did not question it. It was nice actually, quite relaxing.  
"Will you stop looking like a wet weekend." He prompted, handing Sherlock a menu. "Jay will be absolutely fine without us for a short while, okay." Sherlock ignored him, choosing to scan the menu instead, he decided almost instantly - having memorized Angelo's menu years ago. John took a little more time, he hadn't told Sherlock when the detective ordered (correctly) for them both.  
"Salmon farfalla and chicken cacciatora - and do make sure the alcohol is properly burned off this time, I was practically paralytic last time." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "And an apple juice and a..." He surveyed John for a moment. "Glass of red wine, the house one will do." John grinned appreciatively.  
  
"Go on then." He said, amused. "How'd you work that out?" Sherlock looked at him and frowned, he normally delighted in telling John how he'd come to his conclusions, but he looked away just as quickly, ignoring the question, John's brow furrowed in concern. "Sherlock you've barely spoken to me all week... what's wrong?"  
"Nothing's _wrong._ " Sherlock sniffed, glancing around distractedly.   
"Sherlock... this is me you're talking to." He reminded him. "What the hell makes you think you can lie to me?" His words were meant to be kind, provoking a gentle reaction but Sherlock's expression soured.  
"The same thing that makes you think you can lie to me." He said bitterly. John raised an eyebrow. "Oh for... I'm not doing the whole dramatic reveal - you and I both know why we're here so can we please just get it over with?" Sherlock demanded, obviously irritated. When John drew a blank Sherlock sighed.   
  
"You've obviously brought me here to stage a break up, so just get on with it." Sherlock snapped. John was taken aback, though he had a nasty idea what had put this nonsense in Sherlock's head. "I said the day after Jay was born that if you didn't want to raise her with me you were perfectly entitled to stage a break up when she was settled..."  
"Okay, okay just slow down." John said, holding his hands up in submission. "I'm not abandoning Jay and I'm not breaking up with you." He reassured. Sherlock rolled his eyes petulantly.   
"Alice is happy to be part of this little menage-a-trois then?" He countered. John wished the waiter would arrive with his wine, he didn't think he'd ever needed a drink more.  
"Okay for one thing, _don't_ phrase it like that this isn't some weird kinky threesome - you and I aren't actually dating!" John lowered his voice to hiss this at Sherlock, as he didn't want people overhearing that they weren't really together - they'd already had to avoid their fair share of the press lately, John didn't put it past a journalist to be seated across from them. "Secondly... you know about Alice?"  
  
"Oh don't insult me, John." Sherlock drawled. "Of course I know. I knew the whole time, nobody wears perfume to a parent and baby group unless they're trying to impress someone, you come home every Sunday reeking of it. I just presumed you were being pursued by some overweight singleton in track suit bottoms with half a dozen children." He said, wrinkling his nose in displeasure.  
"You have a lovely opinion of single mothers." John said sarcastically.  
"On Monday when I did the laundry, I found her number in your jeans, crinkled, well worn - so you've only had it a day and it's well worn? Obviously been taken out and looked at, frequently. A debate. So you're attracted to her too then." Sherlock continued, darkly. The waiter arrived with their drinks but dashed off almost immediately, sensing the tension between them.  
  
"A single mother, John, really?" He asked sounding distastefully.  
"There is _nothing_ wrong with single mothers." John said, indignant on Alice's behalf.  
"You already have a child! Why would you want somebody else's?" Sherlock demanded quietly. John scowled.  
"Because I'm human Sherlock, alright. Because a smart, funny, attractive woman is actually interested in me and so help me god yeah, I'm tempted." John admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm walking out on Jay and that doesn't mean..."   
"You're not thinking of Jay! Is your own libido really more important than your daughter..." Sherlock cut him off angrily.  
"Oh for God's sake, Sherlock! She is three months old she doesn't know the difference between Molly and Greg yet never mind..." Sherlock cut him off again, quickly, angrily.  
"Exactly! She is going to be confused enough as it is - are you going to be the one to explain why she has two daddies and a mummy. Or why she has a different mummy each month?" Sherlock spat, annoyed.  
  
"You are being ridiculous!" John hissed, taking an overly large sip of his wine. "Look Sherlock if you don't want me to date..." He began.  
"I can't think of a way to say it without sounding like an envious girlfriend so forgive me for being blunt but no - I don't want you to date. Ever." Sherlock finished, looking away, the bitterness in his eyes. John was surprised, he'd expected Sherlock to be a little annoyed, he'd been fully prepared for Sherlock to be his usually catty, cold and sarcastic self to any girlfriend he brought home but this... this was a bolt from the blue. Sherlock really didn't want him to see anybody. John's brow creased as he stared into his wine glass.   
"Okay." He said.  
"I just think it's going to cause more..." Sherlock began in an attempt to justify his comment.  
"Okay." John said again, more firmly. "I won't date." Sherlock's eyes snapped back to John, he looked as though he'd been slapped.  
  
"What? But... as difficult as this is for me to admit, I am aware I'm being petty and... unreasonable... inappropriate... and... possibly jealous." Sherlock said cautiously. John chose to ignore the last bit for now.  
"Yeah well... you're right." John said, gripping his wine glass a little too tightly. "Look I... I made a commitment didn't I? Bringing Jay home... I knew what I was letting myself in for and... well if that means cold showers until she's old enough to understand then... okay."   
"I... I was not expecting this outcome." Sherlock admitted, awkwardly. He'd been completely prepared for a fight.  
"Yeah well... full of surprises, me." He paused, feeling Sherlock had been open, so he probably should be too. "I felt bad about it any way."   
  
An awkward silence settled over the two as their food arrived, both sensing that Sherlock had inadvertently revealed more than he had intended. Jealousy had multiple implications and this was hardly a straight forward scenario. John was suddenly faced with the possibility that Sherlock may be attracted to him, and John wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that - he ought to be flattered but disinterested, thinking about how to carefully acknowledge the situation without hurting his friend... but there was a stirring somewhere deep in his gut that suggested he wasn't as disinterested as he'd thought he would be. He remembered how different it had felt to hold Sherlock's hand - how that had felt like a turning point. The possibility that he may be attracted to Sherlock has occurred to him briefly before, but he'd always pushed it to the back of his mind to analyse later. This was... complicated. He sipped at his drink before remembering he had a plate of food in front of him. Sherlock had gone quiet, and it was obvious his mind was whirring away.  
  
"Seaside." John said suddenly.   
"Pardon?"  
"We should go on holiday... you me and Jay, how do you feel about the seaside?" He wasn't quite sure why he'd brought it up other than to show Sherlock he wasn't offended or upset with him. Sherlock was looking at him like he'd grown an extra head. "I mean... I can book a week off work, it'd be nice to get away for a bit you know just the three of us..." He hesitated for a long moment, taking a long drag of wine before completing his sentence. "As a family." Sherlock nodded curtly, but John thought he saw the vaguest flicker of a smile at the corner of his partner's mouth.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: D'aww. I ought to warn you, I would not trust me with this much power. I may well break your heart later on in the story. It's not all gonna be fluff and rainbows and sparkles, kay. Drama ahead! Reviews are good :)
> 
> Updates may be slow over the next month or so as I'm moving house.


	8. 999

They settled on Whitby. John made a few phone calls the next day and arranged a week off - it had been Sherlock who suggested they leave first thing Sunday morning - John suspected he just didn't want John to go to the baby group and see Alice, but he said nothing of it. Packing had not been the most fun, everything John packed, Sherlock meticulously repacked meaning John could not find _anything_ in his last minute checks.  
"You packed the steriliser?" He stressed.  
"My suitcase." Sherlock drawled, bored as he both pushed the pram and pulled his suitcase behind him towards the train station as though it were a great effort, which it would have been had they not 'borrowed' one of Mycroft's cars to take them to the station car park.  
"Formula?"  
"Tons of it, my suitcase." Sherlock added a roll of his eyes that John missed.  
"You brought rabbit?"  
"She's holding the infernal thing!" Sherlock growled wearily.  
"And her dummies?" John continued to worry, tugging a large suitcase behind him.  
"Six!" Sherlock said exasperatedly, trying to tune out John's fretting and Jay's whining.

"Let's see, bottles, changes of clothes... did we pack the thermometer?"  
"Oh for goodness' sake!" Sherlock snapped. "Shut up John, you're getting on my nerves."  
"If you hadn't meddled with my things..."  
"It made SENSE to put our clothes in the big suitcase and hers in the other, I'm not having this argument again!" Sherlock growled, hoisting Jay out of her pram and settling her in her car seat. She whimpered and cried loudly in protest as John folded her buggy and helped Sherlock lug everything onto the train. They had both secretly hoped that travelling might soothe her, but she was cranky and moody the entire journey.

"Small person, please be quiet." Sherlock moaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose when she hadn't stopped as they pulled into Malton, a few miles away from their destination.  
"That's not going to work." John chided, glancing up from his book, he'd read the same sentence five times over now, having given up on trying to lull Jay to sleep after so many hours of attempting.  
"If you have a better idea, feel free to demonstrate." Sherlock muttered darkly.  
"She obviously doesn't like trains okay, she'll probably calm down when we get there." John sighed, rocking her seat with his foot. No such luck: when they arrived in Whitby, the sea air was bracing and a little chilly for September, but Jay did not cease her sobbing as they trekked up a hill, buggy, suitcases and all to a bed and breakfast they'd booked last minute.

It was a quaint little building, the landlady of which reminded them both of Mrs Hudson - kindly and a little frail she seemed to struggle as she showed them to their room at the top of a winding stairway.  
"The TV works, but we only get the basic channels." She told them. "And the shower takes a few minutes to warm up as the boiler is downstairs. There's a crib in the bedroom and we're right downstairs in flat 1 if you need us, though you might need to knock quite hard as my husband - bless his soul, he's gone a bit deaf in his old age." She continued as the two glanced around their little flat.  
"It's lovely, thank you." John said kindly as Sherlock picked up a shell and examined it suspiciously. She smiled briefly at them before tottering back downstairs.

"This shell is store bought." Sherlock murmured. "Imported, obviously a tropical... What?" He sighed noting John's amused expression.  
"We're on holiday, Sherlock." John grinned. "Try turn this off for a bit, yeah?" He asked, bopping Sherlock lightly on the head, the detective looked incredibly affronted but John just laughed it off, unstrapped Jay from her seat and walked her to the window. "Look Blue Jay, the sea." He showed her but she buried her head in the crook of his neck, determined not to look.  
"She's hungry." Sherlock informed him, as though Jay had just told him.  
"I'll make her up a bottle, where did you say you'd put the formula?" Sherlock scowled - it was going to be a long week.

The sea air did nothing to improve Jay's irritable mood, she wailed and whimpered as they pushed the pram down by the sea front, John's hope that the weather would hold out, despite it being the end of September, was dashed by the chill and the drizzle.  
"Why is she still crying?" John asked exasperatedly.  
"Because her daddy insisted on dragging her out in the wet and the cold." Sherlock suggested, bored already. He had no particular fondness for the sea front, he was itching to go look at the castle ruins and the graveyard but neither of them fancied the famous ninety-nine steps with a pram and a screaming child. John sighed, parking the buggy by the railings and lifting her from it.

"I'm going to take her for a dip." He said. "Might distract her."  
"No." Sherlock insisted. "With the wind chill and the climate that water is sub zero, she'll catch her death."  
"I'm not submerging her, idiot." John growled, pulling off Jay's teeny socks. "I'm literally getting her feet wet and then I'll come dry her off, I brought a towel see." John waved the towel at his not-partner.  
"Why?" He asked eventually.  
"Because, Sherlock, it's an experience okay. Did your parents never take you to the beach to eat sand and splash water at Mycroft?" John was momentarily amused at the thought, he didn't really know much of Sherlock's childhood. Had Sherlock always been introverted and odd or had he been full of energy and the usual boyish pranks? It was hard to picture, but he supposed it was harder to picture Mycroft was ever a small child - that man had been born in a suit and tie and nobody could convince John otherwise.  
"No." Sherlock said, his tone icier than the sea they were discussing. "We holidayed in the country. We climbed trees and locked each other in the dumbwaiter."  
"How very middle-class." John clucked. Having removed his own shoes and socks and hitched his jeans up to the knees he looked ridiculous. "Come on, Blue Jay."

Sherlock stayed by the buggy, his shoes were expensive and he had no desire to ruin them with wet sand, he watched as John took Jay the short distance to the water's edge. The wind was high and caused John's hair to blow out awkwardly, he lowered Jay very carefully, just getting the tips of her toes wet. For a moment she stopped screaming, perplexed at the strange sensation. She quite liked bath time as a general rule but that water was warm and comforting, this was entirely new. Despite the miserable weather, Sherlock found himself smiling. John trailed his finger through the water and dangled a droplet above Jay's nose, she stared transfixed for a moment before it fell and unearthed a derisive squeak as it hit her.

When John brought her back across the thin bar of sand, she was not only smiling but positively beaming.  
"See, all better." He grinned, handing her to Sherlock as he grabbed the towel.

* * *

Sherlock groaned.  
"How is it possible she's getting worse?" He complained, not without due reasoning. The smiling had lasted a few minutes before she began grumbling and crowing again and he was utterly exhausted. All through the day she'd howled, now the night was well and truly set in and she would not settle. She wouldn't sleep. She tried very hard to refuse her bottle and John was really having to fight to get any milk into her at all.  
"I don't know..." John sighed, absently glad they were so far away from the landlady's flat and that the landlord was half deaf. Jay was screaming as though trying to wake the dead - and if volume alone could do it she'd have surely succeeded. They had tried everything, no amount of music, singing, rocking or cuddles with rabbit could quiet her, John had even thrown a load of clean clothes into the washing machine as she always seemed mesmerised by that at home, but still she whimpered and sobbed. Sherlock walked her round the room, wearing a track in the cheap carpet.

It was nearly ten pm when she finally settled into quiet yips and hiccups against Sherlock's chest. They both sighed in relief as she drifted to sleep in his arms.  
"Put her in the crib in the bedroom, I set it up earlier." John yawned. When Sherlock returned he seemed a little distressed.  
"There's only one bed." He confirmed, somewhat distraught.  
"You said to book one, that you didn't want the press getting hold of the reservation and thinking there was trouble in paradise or some rubbish." He rubbed his eyes free of sleep but knew it wouldn't be long until he was out too.  
"No I mean... the sofa's not really big enough..." He was frowning deeply, as though he hadn't really considered the implication. John blearily looked at the two seater sofa, certainly not long enough to account for Sherlock's bloody long legs.  
"I've slept on worse." He shrugged.  
"Your shoulder." Sherlock reminded him, he'd noted John rolling it a few times throughout the day - the cold tended to seize his muscles and the old bullet wound. Obvious really, even if John never complained about it.

"Will be fine." John reassured him almost adamantly. A little muscle stiffness did not make him weak - but it made him very slightly insecure. "Go get some kip, we'll need it if she's this way out tomorrow." Sherlock hovered between the bedroom and the living room, uncertainly. "You always sleep beside Jay, and you won't be comfortable out here. Go on." The doctor insisted, grabbing an extra blanket from the linen cupboard.  
"We could..." Sherlock began but didn't seem to know how to finish his sentence. John paused, because truth be told he'd thought a lot about Sherlock's little jealous outburst the other day - in between Jay's howling it had been all he had been able to think on actually. He'd accepted the fact that yes, there was probably something going on between the two of them and he didn't really mind that but he'd been willing to let it unfold naturally, to see how things went. Some attractions fizzled and died before they even got started and while John had a niggling feeling in the depths of his chest that wasn't going to be true for the two of them, he wanted to go slow.

Sherlock had issues, that much was obvious. John was fairly certain that the detective was aware of the emotions that Jay had begun to stir in them both, but he was positive that Sherlock didn't have the first clue about what to do with that information. As far as John was aware, Sherlock had never had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or anybody really and he wasn't about to dive head first into something that could potentially mess everything up. There was also the unspoken problem of Sherlock's past - John knew something had happened to Sherlock, most likely when he was in care, but he daren't broach the subject. If sexual abuse was an issue then it was entirely possible Sherlock was (and John could think of no more fitting word, even though it pained him) _scarred_ , in more ways than one.

So slow and steady, if something was going to happen John would let it happen, if it wasn't then it wasn't and that was that. So Sherlock's half uttered suggestion about sharing a bed seemed far too big a step. Too much, too soon, it was all far too new.  
"I'll be fine out here Sherlock, I promise." He swore. Sherlock looked torn, as though he was conflicted - push the issue, insist upon them bed sharing or leave John to sleep on a small, unsuitable sofa. In the end his exhaustion won out, he was too tired for an argument so settled on  
"I'll be right next door, if you need me. Goodnight John." He nodded.  
"Night." John smiled and watched as Sherlock vanished into the bedroom.

John readied himself for sleep. It was as he put the teacups on the draining board that he noticed the census book Sherlock had been perusing during the toy shop murder. There were small slips of paper as bookmarks over several pages and John absently flicked it open to one of them. The names of people he didn't know, their birth dates and addresses. He didn't understand the relevance to the case, nor why Sherlock was still working on it when it had been pretty much written off as a one off unsolvable case. He leafed through to the H's out of interest, an unmarked page showed Sherlock and Mycroft's birth dates, just above them their parents death dates. John paused - Sherlock's father had died twenty odd years ago but his mother's date of death was a mere five years ago. He blinked. Odd that he'd never mentioned her. Still, it was hardly the oddest thing about the detective.

The sofa was uncomfortable to say the least, the cushions were the old fashioned sprung kind and prodded John in the back as he lay down. To tell the truth he'd much rather be in a nice, warm, cosy bed, beside his daughter and possibly with one thin pale arm around his waist. He was surprised how easily these thoughts came to him now, he'd had very little crisis of sexuality and even less problems with the idea of it being Sherlock who changed it all round. He smiled absently to himself as sleep crept in at the edges. Maybe one day.

His sleep didn't last long as he was jolted awake at 2.30am by the fact nothing had woken him. Jay was due a feed at 2am, she woke up for it like clockwork. He dragged himself to his feet with a sigh, he felt sore all over and wished he'd taken Sherlock up on his offer. Likely Jay had just tired herself out crying all day, but she'd taken so little from her last bottle that John would have to wake her (it seemed such a shame, when she was so sleepy). He busied himself with making up the formula in the little kitchenette, before plodding into the room. Sherlock was fast asleep, on his stomach as always, draped in the duvet. John hesitated for a second, calmed by just watching the younger man rest, soothed by the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He shook his head fondly and approached the cot.

His heart rate spiked as he immediately knew something was wrong, Jay had kicked free of her blanket, she was half uncovered but her cheeks were a furious red. He touched her forehead and recoiled at the heat. Placing the bottle on the bedside table he lifted her from the crib to find she was weak and floppy.  
"SHERLOCK!" He shouted, panic in his tone. The detective jerked and sat up, confused and disorientated. "CALL 999, NOW!" He ordered. Sherlock tripped over the bed covers as he grabbed for his phone. John stripped Jay of her bedding and undid her baby grow.

The next fifteen minutes passed in kind of a blur for John. He remembered Sherlock grabbing their coats and forcing him into his, he remembered sirens screaming and blue lights flashing, he remembered jabbering Jay's details at the paramedics and he vaguely recalled a strong spidery hand squeezing his. He longed for the numbness that had accompanied his last hospital visit - when Jay was born, instead he felt his heart pounding far too fast and the breath going from his lungs with no intention of returning. Sherlock forced John's head between his knees and pressed his hands to the back of his head.  
"Breathe." He ordered.  
"Jay." John said weakly.  
"Is being checked over." Sherlock informed him. "You need to calm down."  
"Sherlock she's..."

"Stop talking." Sherlock growled, fingers tense in John's hair, nails just scratching his scalp.  
"She's 12 weeks old..." John stressed, trying to make Sherlock understand.  
"Stop." Sherlock said again, firmer this time and John was shushed, he felt dizzy and like he might throw up, Sherlock had positioned him well for this - a panic attack. It had been a while since John had felt this kind of fear, it was acute and focused, everything seemed too loud, too sharp, too real - Sherlock barking at the medics, their soothing tones, the beeping of machines... but no crying.  
"Why isn't she crying?" John begged, his voice aimed at his knees. He didn't know if anybody answered him, it all went blurry again.

The next thing he remembered clearly was Sherlock forcibly dragging him out of a hospital room, away from Jay.  
"John... JOHN." Sherlock warned. "You need to listen to me." John blinked. Hospital, white walls, blue linoleum, smell of disinfectant, Sherlock stood under the glaringly bright lights in his pyjama pants and his coat. He blinked again as things came into startling focus, Sherlock was gripping his shoulders tightly. "They're doing the best for her, you yelling at the doctors isn't going to help." John paused and swayed violently on his feet. Had he yelled? When had he yelled? "Sit." Sherlock ushered him into a seat as his breathing began to feel a bit more normal. "I'm going to get you a cup of whatever passes for tea in this place."  
"How are you so calm?" John asked, voice feeling thick in his throat. This was not how it was supposed to go, in a crisis it was Sherlock who lost his temper, Sherlock who shouted and panicked - John was supposed to be the one who stayed calm.  
"I'm not." Sherlock answered tersely. "Stay here, and remember to breathe." Sherlock added, disappearing down the hall. John just stared at the door of the room they had taken Jay into, trying to understand why Jay was in there and he was out here.

Sherlock returned with a cardboard cup and placed it in John's hands.  
"She's 12 weeks old..." John said softly.  
"And she'll see 13." Sherlock said firmly. "They suspect it's an ear infection, nothing more."  
"Yeah I... ear infection?" John groaned, he was going to throw those stupid dummies in the bin. "I figured it was an infection but... she was limp..."  
"A bi product of the fever and her being over tired." The detective said gently, confused when John did not look at all calmed by this information.  
"An infection after 12 weeks is nasty but it's nothing serious." John gulped, blowing on his tea and suddenly becoming aware of the fact he had no shoes on. Had they really darted out half dressed in the middle of the night? "But before 12 weeks... their immunity isn't built up it can... it can cause all sorts of..." John broke off, trembling. "She's on the threshold. Borderline. She might..." He shook his head.

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing." Sherlock murmured. "You're a doctor... you've seen the worst case scenarios with other people." He observed. John nodded weakly, trying not to think about it. "Well then, it's a good thing Jay's ahead of every other milestone." Sherlock said bluntly. "There's no reason she'd be behind in this." John paused. There was no logic to that statement. Jay's mental development had nothing to do with her physical state - just because she was ahead in her sensory development did not mean she'd built up her physical health yet. Sherlock was logical. He had to know his comments were ridiculous. Only as John opened his mouth to argue did he remember that Sherlock had told him that he wasn't calm. Sherlock was scared too. He'd either said that to lie to himself, to calm himself down, or told John it to placate him. John didn't know how to respond to that.

"She's been ill all day... I didn't see it." He said instead. "Grouchy, off her food... the only time she stopped was..." He paused and groaned. "When she was in the cold water... must have soothed her fever." He shook his head. "How did I not... I'm a doctor!" He said indignantly. Sherlock smirked.  
"So I and everyone else in this hospital has heard. Repeatedly." John felt a blush rise on his cheek, glad he'd blanked out his screaming match with the doctors looking after Jay. He could only imagine how awful he'd been. A nurse skittered out of Jay's room.  
"For Jay Watson-Holmes?" She questioned them. The pair nodded in sync. "We've brought her temperature down." The nurse smiled. "And given her some antibiotics suitable for babies, it's an inner ear infection. We'd like to keep her in overnight for monitoring but she's already perking up." John felt like his knees were going to collapse with relief.  
"Thank god." He whispered.

"You can come see her..." The nurse said tentatively. "Provided you don't call my colleagues incompetent again..." She added. John buried his head in his hands in embarrassment as Sherlock steered him through into her room. A doctor was sat on a bed with her on her lap, she looked bright and alert. John reached for her and the doctor handed her over without complaint.  
"I'm sorry..." John told the doctor as he stroked Jay's dark hair. "I panicked I'm not normally aggressive or..."  
"Believe me I've heard worse." The doctor said seriously. "She's okay now and that's all that matters." Sherlock circled round to John's front, placing his finger in Jay's grip. "She'll be able to go home tomorrow, as for tonight you're free to leave..." Sherlock glared at her. "Or if you want to stay here you're welcome to." She amended. John nodded, kissing Jay on her forehead. She still felt warm and clammy but she wasn't radiating heat like earlier. She was only wearing a nappy which made her look impossibly smaller than usual, so tiny and so vulnerable. John sat down on the bed as the doctor left, rubbing Jay's back. Sherlock remained standing.

"You gave us a fright." Sherlock said sternly. It took John a moment to realise he was talking to Jay. "Quite frankly I've had enough of hospitals this year, so no more scares." He warned her, his tone was serious but his eyes were kind. John smiled at him and reluctantly gave Jay to him, he wanted to just hold on to her forever, to never let her out of his sight again.  
"She doesn't care." John chuckled. "That we're out in the middle of the night, half dressed, in a hospital. In fact she probably thinks it's funny."

Then Jay made the most angelic sound, a tiny tinkling giggle. John and Sherlock both froze. She'd never done that before. John knew the look of shock and amazement on Sherlock's face must have been mimicked on his own.  
"I don't have the baby book on me for milestone reference." Sherlock said softly. "However, I believe that's her finding it funny."

They spent the next hour or so trying to prompt her to laugh again, but the exhaustion took hold of her quite quickly after her ordeal. Sherlock lay her in the hospital issue cot, wishing he'd had the foresight to grab rabbit on their way out the door, he was aware of John's presence beside him, watching her. John trailed his fingers over one of Jay's cheeks - both were blotchy red.  
"You should rest." Sherlock told him.  
"You too." He agreed, hopping onto the hospital bed and rubbing his shoulder to ease the tension, it was bloody cold. Sherlock hesitated for a moment before removing his coat and joining his not-partner on the bed. It wasn't exactly comfortable - hospital beds never were, but it was close to Jay and big enough for the two of them, so it was worth putting up with the glaringly bright lights overhead, the plastic covers and the rubber sheet. John lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"You know, when I suggested sharing a bed this wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Sherlock said with a sigh, watching as John's lip quirked upward in amusement.  
"When you suggested sharing a flat this wasn't exactly what _I_ had in mind." He countered, amused. "But it's... it's good." He settled on eventually, too tired to articulate what he really meant. That it was okay they had this life, that he was thankful for Sherlock, for Jay, that he had a roof over his head, that he wasn't even the slightest bit daunted at the possibility of them taking the relationship further, all of it. It was all good.  
"You better not steal the covers." Sherlock chided, pulling them up.  
"Yeah well you better not sprawl like a bloody octopus - I've seen you sleep." John teased.  
"Hands to myself." Sherlock agreed.  
"That wasn't what I... I didn't mean..." John sighed. "Shut up and sleep." He ordered, closing his eyes.

Silence. Well... almost silence. Nurses outside were calming drunks, the porters pushed rickety trolleys through the halls with loud rattles and there was a dull buzzing from a great deal of monitors but other than that - silence. So much so that when John's hand slid around under the covers to find Sherlock's it made a whispery rustle under the sheets. He was relieved when Sherlock's finger's laced between his and squeezed back.  
' _Yes._ ' John thought decisively. ' _It's good._ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I am so sorry for the long wait between chapters, my laptop suffered a great deal of damage and I didn't want to have to rewrite when there was a chance of recovering! The screen has been replaced and a USB keyboard has been acquired so hopefully I should be posting with a little more frequency! I really hope I've not lost your attention on this one as there have been subtle clues throughout the story you should have been picking up on. Bonus points if anybody can leave the key word in their review (hint - the word I'm looking for is not in this chapter!)


	9. Jealousy and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a jealous streak and someone's been telling lies

  
Whitby may not have been as glamorous or glittery as the bright lights of Vegas, but the old adage was still very much the same : what happens there, stays there. Spooked by Jay's midnight crisis, John spent the remainder of the holiday plying his daughter with antibiotics, wrestling Sherlock away from working during the day, and sharing their room come nightfall. Sherlock was remarkably well behaved in his sleep, he didn't sprawl or steal the covers, his limbs didn't spontaneously attach themselves to John in the night. John didn't know whether he was relieved or disappointed about that. He did know it made it much easier to deal with Jay's night time crying, just being able to roll out of bed and be at her side within seconds.   
  
However, when they returned to Baker Street the following Sunday night both Sherlock and John were very conscious of the fact that there were different rules at home and went to their respective bedrooms without a word on the subject. John thought his own bed, tucked up in the top of 221b was remarkably cold and desolate. He and Sherlock had never cuddled in bed (despite the fact that several times it had been John who had been tempted to roll over and wrap one arm around the sleeping genius) but his mere presence beside him had been a comfort. He missed Jay too, waking up twice that first night back home in a mild panic at her not being in the room and then promptly going downstairs to check on her.   
  
But no - the holiday was over and they had to return to what passed for normal at 221b. Within days of their return, John found himself dragged off on a case with Sherlock (and Jay in her pram) - the news that morning had mentioned a now extinguished fire had burned down a shop on Farrington Street. John had barely acknowledged it but Sherlock had leapt to his feet and insisted they go straight down to the scene to see Lestrade. John was bewildered - the news report had not mentioned that the fire had been deliberate and even if it had been, John was almost certain arson was not Lestrade's division.   
"Oh for... you can't bring a baby here!" Anderson snapped. Anderson. Forensics. Right.  
' _If Anderson's here - there's a body._ ' John thought grimly.  
"He's right Sherlock we can't..."  
"Shh." Sherlock snapped, peering at the damaged store-front. The whole place was a blackened shell, the sensible white paintwork now patchy and dark, all the windows smashed from the heat. Sherlock bobbed on his heels, full of nervous energy.   
  
"Sherlock!" Lestrade said, looking quite surprised to see the detective. "Uh... you can't bring Jay to crime scenes." He shifted nervously.   
"She's behind the tape, public domain." Sherlock dismissed airily, ignoring John's exasperated sigh and Anderson stomping off in a strop - to him it looked like Sherlock was very much bending the rules to suit himself once more. "How many fatalities?"  
"Uhm..." The flicker across Greg's face was not a comfortable one - he looked cautious and uncertain before steeling himself, standing straighter and rolling his shoulders. "You can't be involved on this one. Go home."  
"It's a toy shop, yes?" Sherlock queried. John raised an eyebrow in curiosity as it clicked just why Sherlock had insisted they hurry down.  
"Well it _was._.." Lestrade sighed, glancing at the wreckage. "Look mate I'm sorry but..."  
  
"I have no proof, and it's the mistake of fools to theorize without proof however - two toy shops in central London have been targeted now and..." Sherlock paced as he spoke. He did not have the thrilled look a serial killer usually invoked upon his sharp features. He looked anxious, somewhat distressed and his feet would not stay still as he marched in tight circles.  
"Sherlock." Lestrade said in a much firmer voice, causing the detective to break his stride and actually look at him. "Didn't you hear me the first time? You're to have no involvement in this case OR any linked cases. It's no longer your investigation." John blinked, Lestrade's voice was terribly grim and even Sherlock seemed to understand this was not Greg's usual 'you've annoyed me somehow so I'm pretending I don't need your help' stance.   
"May I ask why?" Sherlock asked, his eyes darkening as though he knew exactly what was about to be said. Lestrade's stern demeanour faltered ever so slightly as he glanced as John uncertainly. John shrugged. He had no idea what was happening.  
  
"When you first started... helping." The grey haired man said awkwardly, squirming under Sherlock's cold stare. "Your brother called me and told me that under no circumstances were you to ever be allowed to work on an arson case. He said he'd ensure I was sacked if I broke that rule." John's eyebrows leapt in shock. What? He'd never dealt with an arson case with Sherlock before - this was possibly why. "So... I'm sorry but..."  
"I'll kill him." Sherlock growled, venom in his voice. "He had no right! You need me on this!"  
"Yeah." Lestrade ran his hand down his face. "Yeah, God help me I do but I promised Mycroft that..."  
"No. I refuse to be kicked off of this one." Sherlock insisted. "You CAN'T do this!" He roared. The loud barking voice, so very Sherlock in his moments of distress, roused the sleeping baby who began to whimper.  
"Sherlock..." John warned softly.  
"Did he say why?" Sherlock demanded, his fists clenched in balls by his sides as he refused to acknowledge his temper had upset Jay.   
"No. Said it was none of my business, just made me promise for your safety and uh... well he said the safety of anyone involved."   
"You have no idea what you're doing!" Sherlock howled, in full on tantrum mode. John sighed and crouched by the pram, trying to lull Jay. It was hard enough dealing with one child, never mind two.   
It didn't help that John's mind was whirring. Mycroft had actively forbidden Sherlock from doing something, without Sherlock's knowledge. Pieces of the past seemed to be slotting together in John's mind and he didn't like the picture he was forming. The red bubbled skin at the crux of Sherlock's thigh seemed imprinted on the back of John's eyelids - surely a burn. Sherlock had been in care, despite at least one of his parents being alive. John knew children were only really taken from their parents for two reasons - significant danger to the child or significant danger to the parent. The nasty thought that Sherlock may have chosen to target criminals because he himself had been a young offender - it was the only reason John could see would have Sherlock banned from arson cases, that as a teenager (perhaps even a child) he'd been a little too fond of playing with matches and had been too much for his own family to handle? Had the drug abuse come before or after that? A time-line would help but he could hardly ask Sherlock for details.  
  
John glanced at the curly haired man who seemed to be trembling with pent up rage. His deductions were never as solid as Sherlock's - no doubt John had missed something Sherlock would deem obvious. Still. While the thought unsettled John slightly, he thought no less of the man for it.  
  
"I swear I will hack into Scotland Yard and rewrite ALL your files." Sherlock threatened loudly. Jay cried harder to compensate for her dad's shouting.  
"Look, you're a friend and I would hate to have to arrest you in front of your family. So with all due respect - get the hell off my crime scene." Lestrade countered, looking deadly serious.  
"Sherlock. Let it go." John pleaded, rubbing rabbit against Jay's cheek as she sobbed, distressed at Sherlock's temperament.  
  
Sherlock glanced at her, his expression tight and slightly frightened.  
"Just tell me something and I'll go." Sherlock said in barely more than a whisper. Lestrade folded his arms and sighed.   
"I can't promise anything..."  
"Flowers." He murmured. "If you've found or find any flowers, or pollen - let me know."   
"You have theories?" John asked. Sherlock's expression darkened. This was usually the point where he said 'Nine so far' in a smug voice, lording his genius over those who hadn't a clue.   
"Just the one." He pursed his lips and looked back at the DI. "Will you do that for me?"  
"I... Sherlock we're not going to find any flowers in there, the whole place is decimated." Lestrade looked bewildered and John knew it was taking everything the man had not to ask Sherlock for advice, for a tip off or a hint.  
"Trust me." Sherlock's tone was final, and with that he turned on his heel and marched off.  
  
John knew he ought to follow, to offer his friend some comfort but Jay was still crying and he knew that would not ease Sherlock's foul mood.  
"You uh... you really have no idea why he's not allowed on arson cases?" John asked Lestrade cautiously. He didn't really mean to pry, Sherlock had his own reasons for not telling them but John's curiosity was winning out.   
"Genuinely don't know." Lestrade raised his hands, palms up. John frowned slightly, because if Sherlock had a juvenile record, surely Lestrade of all people would be aware of it. So whatever Sherlock had done - he'd not been legally charged? Someone gave a shout from inside the ruined building and Lestrade inclined his head towards it. "I have to go... I'll try bob round to yours later, yeah?" John nodded stiffly, he had the distinct feeling that Greg would not be welcome in 221b until Sherlock was done sulking and god only knew how long that might take.   
  
He took Jay the long way home, swinging by Tesco's to collect some milk en route. He found Sherlock curled up on the sofa, his expression thunderous. His mobile phone appeared to have been hurled at the book shelf in a petty fit of anger and John could only presume Sherlock had called Mycroft to berate him.   
"I'll put the kettle on, shall I?" John asked exasperatedly. Sherlock didn't respond until after Jay had been settled in her bouncer and John had placed a steaming mug of tea on the table in front of him.  
  
John hesitated - not entirely sure what he was supposed to say here. 'Oh by the way did you used to start fires for fun?' seemed like a terrible conversation starter.  
"Save it." Sherlock snapped.  
"Pardon?" John said, startled. He hadn't even opened his mouth, but of course Sherlock knew he'd been about to offer comfort.   
"Whatever drivel you're about to spout, just keep it to yourself." Growled Sherlock. John sighed heavily.  
"Fine. Fine I will just... you can talk to me you know... if you want to." He murmured. Sherlock glared as though talking was the last thing he ever wanted to do. John scowled. He knew Sherlock had his reasons for being so reticent but they were... well... whatever they were they were raising a child together.   
  
There was a long stilted silence, only broken by Jay's occasional coo or hiccup from the bouncer. John thought she looked almost Sherlockian, the way she was observing them with mild disinterest. John forced a smile for her and she giggled merrily.  
"There it is!" John cheered, ignoring the not-argument he and Sherlock weren't having. Sherlock raised his head from his sulking position.   
"The only time she laughs is when we're miserable." Sherlock grumbled. John chuckled and knelt in front of her bouncer.   
"She's too young to understand Schadenfreude, Sherlock." John bopped her on the nose and she giggled again, a squeaky breathy noise that seemed to slam John in the chest like an explosion. Sherlock dragged himself up from the sofa and stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door far louder than necessary. "And that, Blue Jay, is your dad throwing a tantrum." John informed her. Jay stopped laughing.

* * *

  
  
Sherlock never forgot slights against him. For the next two weeks, every time Greg tried to come round, Sherlock slammed the door in his face. John winced at every bang and tremor, and tried not to sigh whenever Sherlock's phone rang. If it was Lestrade calling, Sherlock would ignore it to the point it drove everyone insane. When Mycroft called, Sherlock shoved the offending piece of technology into the strangest places. John had stopped asking why Sherlock's mobile was in the fridge/microwave/bread bin, choosing instead to be grateful that Sherlock hadn't thrown it off the roof or dissolved it in acid.   
  
"I was thinking of taking Jay back to the play group..." John mentioned tentatively one Sunday morning. 'To get out of the house' went unsaid.   
"I thought we were agreed the 'play group' is for imbeciles using their children as pawns to try date other desperate singletons." Sherlock grumbled, stabbing at the remote. He'd been flicking idly through the TV channels for twenty minutes, never settling on anything longer than the time it took to criticize it.   
"No. We agreed I wouldn't date Alice because you got huffy about it." John argued. "No sense punishing Jay."  
"I'm not 'punishing' her." Sherlock argued. "She gets nothing there that she doesn't get here. She has toys, sensory stimulation, clean nappies, formula - all of that, HERE at home. She doesn't need..."  
"Yeah well maybe I need it." John muttered. Sherlock froze, mid-rant. He glanced at John who looked defeated and resigned. John who had put up with his bad mood for over a fortnight. John who hadn't said a word, because Sherlock had asked him not to. Sherlock's features softened.  
  
"If you leave the house today, Mycroft will likely abduct you for a chat." Sherlock concluded with a sigh. "Or worse, come pay me a visit."  
"You know, if you answered his calls you wouldn't need to live in fear of him popping in." John prompted and received a glare for his troubles. "You could come with us if you like?" He added, fairly certain that Sherlock would rather have all his teeth pulled without anaesthetic than spend a few hours at a parenting group. Sherlock's steely eyes turned more gentle as he glanced at Jay, laying on her playmat.   
"Okay." He said softly. John was surprised to say the least but he didn't push - Sherlock leaving the house was a bonus, even if he was likely to get them banned from ever returning.  
  
He packed a bag in silence and Sherlock wrestled her into her coat. John absently worried about what Alice would say, having not attended in the several weeks since he and Sherlock had rowed - she had no idea. He avoided her eye as they slipped into the nursery and found a quiet little corner. John paid them in and made tea, returning to find Sherlock perusing the bookshelf. John left him to it, ignoring the disappointed clucks from the detective as he deemed 98% of the books tedious and patronising. John passed Jay one of the soft toys but she ignored it, choosing to snuggle tighter with rabbit instead. Alice eventually approached, beaming.  
"Long time no see, John." She smiled, bending down to coo at Jay. John noted out of the corner of his eye that Sherlock moved away from the book shelf, a children's book on penguins in his right hand, and closer towards them.   
"She got sick." John told her.  
"Oh the poor mite." She simpered, stroking Jay's face. Jay chirruped happily at her.   
  
"Care to introduce us, John?" Sherlock asked coldly. John tried very hard to smile. This was going to end very badly.   
"Sure thing, Sherlock this is Alice, her son is..." John glanced around. "Attempting to overturn the sandpit."   
"Oh for, Joey!" Alice scolded. Joey leapt in surprise and vanished behind a stack of blocks. "Honestly you wait til she starts walking, she'll be into everything. You can't take your eyes off of them for two seconds." She sighed, turning back to them.   
"And Alice this is Sherlock..." John wondered how to finish that sentence. In the end, Sherlock did it for him.  
"His partner." He said firmly, laying one hand on John's shoulder possessively so that there would be no mistaking the term 'partner'.  
"Oh!" She remarked, seeming a little startled. "I didn't realise you were..." She trailed off awkwardly, a blush creeping onto her cheeks as it dawned on her just how wrong she'd got it.  
"Gay?" Sherlock suggested, nodding enthusiastically. "Oh yes, absolutely flaming homosexual, isn't that right dear?" Sherlock grinned at John who rolled his eyes, making a mental note to kill Sherlock later - until Sherlock dipped down and placed his lips very gently to the shell of John's ear, making him shiver. Then it was all forgotten. John tried to feel bad for Alice, who stammered an excuse and then hurried away but he was more focused on the electricity that had shot down his spine at that simple move. Sherlock had long since moved away by the time John had recovered, he was sat in an old fashioned rocking chair with Jay on his knee while he read her a story.  
  
The story was apparently about two male penguins adopting an egg. John blinked, wondering if Sherlock was making it up as he went - changing the story to suit Jay, but whether it was an actual book or his own imagination, Jay was captivated. She was too young to understand what was being said, of that John was certain, but she was lulled and soothed by the steady rhythm of Sherlock's tone as he read to her. John smiled and sipped at his tea, as he listened in as well. Sherlock spoke to Jay in his usual voice, he never dumbed it down for her, or resorted to such pettiness as baby-talk but his tone was always a shade or two kinder with her. John thought, in a foolishly affectionate manner, that in a way that defined what love was for Sherlock - gentle. Sherlock loved her so he was more patient with her, even though (being a baby) she was more trying than most. She sucked on rabbit throughout and by the end of the story she was not asleep but curled comfortably against Sherlock's chest.  
  
John thought they looked a real picture like that. In fact... he dug his mobile out of his pocket and snapped a photograph of them, father and daughter - looking content and happy under the autumnal sunbeams seeping through the window behind them. Sherlock looked more relaxed than John had seen in weeks and that was a blessing in itself. He ought to have savoured that moment of peace because the moment he and Sherlock left the nursery, hand in hand (Sherlock had grabbed it on his way out, likely in an attempt to send a message to Alice - 'mine') Mycroft's car pulled up. John had expected Sherlock to drop his hand, to snap at Mycroft, instead Sherlock's fingers gripped his tighter. John smirked, apparently Sherlock had a jealous streak. Mycroft slid elegantly from the back seat.   
"Ah there you are." He said as though he had not actually stalked them here, as if he'd just run into them at the bank or something. John rolled his eyes.  
  
"One day." He told Jay calmly. "Dad and Uncle Mycroft will behave like proper grown ups."   
"Ah!" Jay responded.  
"Ah indeed." Mycroft said through a thin lipped smile. "I'd like a word, Sherlock."  
"Really? I hadn't figured that out, what with the 35 missed calls this week." Sherlock swivelled his eyes skyward indignantly.  
"You may suit yourself Sherlock, however - if you do not wish to listen to what I have to say to you in private, I may be forced to discuss it right here. I'm sure you'd rather _certain people_ were not dragged into this." Both brothers glanced at John who sighed heavily.  
"Fine, I get it, we'll clear off." He grumbled. "It's not like I'm your 'flaming homosexual partner' or anything." Mycroft cocked an eyebrow in curiosity as John dropped Sherlock's hand. "I'll see you back at the flat." He muttered at Sherlock, then trudged off with Jay. Mycroft surveyed Sherlock carefully, somewhat stirred by Sherlock's eyes trained on John's retreating back.  
  
"The two of you..." He began cautiously.  
"I don't believe that is or has ever been any of your business." Sherlock huffed, reluctantly dragging his eyes back to his elder sibling.  
"Very well..." Mycroft stepped to one side, opening the door and indicating Sherlock get into the vehicle. Loathed as he was to obey, Sherlock slipped into the car. There was a long silence between the brothers, Sherlock watched the route absently - aware they had no destination. Mycroft was not going to risk taking him somewhere he could flee but Sherlock was not above leaping out of a moving vehicle to avoid any unpleasantness. In fact that seemed like a brilliant idea, Sherlock eyed the child locks with intent.  
  
"Lestrade informed me as to your... query." Mycroft said tentatively.   
"You had no right, Mycroft." Hissed Sherlock, absently pressing buttons on the door, the lights above them flickered on and off in response.  
"Perhaps not..." He conceded, frowning at Sherlock's evident distraction. "I banned you from arson cases for your own good. However... you are being paranoid, Sherlock." Mycroft steepled his fingers under his chin, the way Sherlock did when assessing something interesting, Sherlock glared at him.  
"Paranoid?" He said incredulously. "Surely you think..." Mycroft silenced his errant younger brother with a hefty sigh.   
"Sherlock... that was a long time ago. Nobody is targeting you, the case is strange certainly but your guilt is clouding your judgement. You cannot obsess over it the way you have been."  
"I shall live my life as I see fit Mycroft, regardless of your disapproval." Sherlock sniffed.   
"But it's not just your life any more." The wise words bit a little too harshly. "We chose to bury this, to move on... dragging all this up again will bring you nothing but despair. You are perfectly safe, I reassure you." Sherlock glowered.  
"It's a pity my safety was not your primary concern back then, brother dear." Mycroft smiled painfully and nodded.   
  
"Very well, if I can't persuade you to drop this for your own sake... I ask that you let the matter go for her."   
"Don't bring her into this!" Sherlock growled.   
"Your _daughter_ deserves better than a father who is convinced the world is out to get him." Mycroft warned coldly and Sherlock gritted his teeth.   
"Did you not consider that maybe I'm... afraid of this for her sake?" He whispered. Mycroft looked touched for only a moment before his face became its usual mask.   
"Yes. That thought had crossed my mind. Sherlock... this is all in your head." He spoke sternly. "And dwelling on it will do you no good." Sherlock gulped and looked away, not wanting his brother to see the doubt in his eyes.   
  
When he arrived home it was already late and the flat was dark. John had fallen asleep on the sofa and jerked awake as Sherlock clicked the light on.   
"Sh'lock?" He mumbled, blinking to adjust to the brightness in the room. "Did Mycroft really kidnap you for..." He glanced at the clock above the mantle. "Eight hours?"  
"No. I went for a walk." Sherlock mumbled and John frowned. Something was wrong. Sherlock looked pale and tired and not in the new-baby kind of way. He looked haunted. John clambered to his feet.  
"Jay's asleep in your room." He told Sherlock who nodded mutely, casting a concerned glance at his bedroom door. John had the niggling feeling that all Sherlock wanted in that moment was to hold her. "Listen... whatever Mycroft said..."  
"It pains me to admit this." Sherlock said softly. "However, for the first time in his life Mycroft may be right."   
"Okay... about?" John prompted but Sherlock shook his head.   
"Not tonight. Tonight I need..." He looked a little lost and John hated to see him like this. "I don't know what I need... I'm exhausted but I'm not tired." He sighed in confusion, shaking his head once more.   
  
"Okay..." John paused, nodding in contrast to Sherlock shaking his head. "You don't have to sleep, but if you go lie down I'll bring you a cuppa, yeah?" Sherlock froze and looked at John as though he'd only just realised he was in the room with him. "Go on." John urged kindly and set about making good on his promise. He brought the mug of tea through to find Sherlock laid on his bed fully dressed, just staring at her.   
  
"Best cure in the world." John agreed with a smile. "Doesn't matter how worried, stressed or tired I am... just looking at her makes it better." He placed the mug on Sherlock's bedside table but Sherlock was frowning.   
"What have you been worried and stressed about?" He inquired.   
"Oh just... I don't know." John floundered because saying 'you' seemed very inappropriate, even it was true. Sherlock seemed to know exactly what he'd meant though. He jerked his head to the empty space in his bed.   
"Stay." He instructed. John considered it for a long moment. He'd missed sharing a bed with Sherlock and the detective had been so distant lately... John reluctantly supposed that now was not the time for awkward relationship conversations. He climbed into the bed, already in his night clothes. Sherlock vanished into the bathroom to change. John took the time alone to watch Jay sleeping peacefully. John thought his opinion was incredibly biased but he knew she was the most beautiful baby in the whole world and she was his. He smiled softly at her and was still beaming stupidly when Sherlock walked back in. It was colder now and Sherlock had started donning a T-shirt to bed, covering his scars. John's smile grew wider because in a weird way this beautiful man was also his. Sherlock pursed his lips.  
  
"Why are you wearing that inane grin?" He demanded, a little put out.  
"Nothing... just..." He shrugged, unable to wipe the expression from his face. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sank into bed beside John. In Whitby they'd both been so exhausted they'd fallen asleep without too much time to contemplate the fact they were sharing a bed. Tonight John had already rested and his mind was alert, Sherlock was unable to sleep due to too many thoughts. "Can I try something?" John asked cautiously. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. "It's nothing bad I promise... and if you don't like it I'll stop." He reassured. Sherlock sighed.   
"If you must." He grumbled but his face completely relaxed when John shifted over and wrapped his arm over Sherlock's waist, laying his head on Sherlock's chest. "What..." Sherlock breathed, confused. John could hear Sherlock's heartbeat pick up at the proximity.  
"You looked like you needed it." John murmured. Sherlock stared down at the top of John's head incredulously. This was... unusual. It felt nice though, he had to admit that. He cautiously lowered his hand and draped his arm over John's shoulder.   
  
"Think you might be able to sleep now?" John queried. Sherlock's open palm found the space between John's shoulder blades and rested there.   
"I... yes, maybe." He sounded uncertain but he felt John's jaw move in a subtle nod against his chest.   
"Good. Stop thinking." Sherlock let his chin fall to John's hair and willed his mind to stop whirring. His last thought before he drifted off was the hope that Mycroft was right - that they were safe.

* * *

  
  
"It is two in the fucking morning." Lestrade hissed in irritation. "You and your bloody brother are getting clocks for Christmas. Big ones. With flashing red lights when it's NOT an appropriate time." He scowled.   
"Apologies for the cloak and dagger." Mycroft said sounding incredibly insincere. He was not sorry for dragging Lestrade out of bed at an unreasonable hour. Bastard. "Do you have it?" He asked of the detective inspector who sighed and produced a file from his coat. Mycroft took it and opened it, scanning quickly.   
"Pollen." He concluded.   
"What the hell is going on?" Lestrade sighed, shivering a little in the chill. Old abandoned buildings were not well known for their central heating. "I know for a fact you could have gotten this information without calling me up at home and out into the middle of the night." Mycroft looked as though he was having an internal debate. "Mycroft..." Lestrade's voice softened. "Do you suspect your brother?"  
"Of these?" Mycroft queried, gesturing at the toy shop murder files. "No. I do not."  
"Then why the fuck are we creeping around behind his back and keeping him in the dark? And what does daisy pollen have to do with any of it?" He demanded, frustrated. "I've let you dictate from behind the scenes for a long time and now I need to know... is Sherlock dangerous?" Lestrade hated himself for asking. Sherlock was a bloody nutter but Lestrade honestly didn't believe him capable of hurting someone - he was an insufferable prat but he was hardly a murderer.   
  
Mycroft smirked.  
"Oh he's very dangerous, but not in the way you're thinking." Then the smirk faded and he frowned. "He's not a threat." He said softly. "But I believe him to be in grave danger."  
"This... this is aimed at him?" Lestrade asked, bewildered. Mycroft's lips thinned.   
"It would seem someone is very interested in sending Sherlock a message." He said grimly. Lestrade gulped and glanced at the file. It contained pictures of the toy shop owners, one who'd had his throat slashed and been strung up like a puppet - left to bleed, and one who'd been force fed petrol and burned alive. This murderer was heartless and it chilled Lestrade to the bone to think someone like that existed, never mind wanted to get Sherlock's attention.  
"And... what would that message be?" Lestrade asked.   
"It is none of your concern... I only ask that you do everything in your power to keep him away from these cases."  
"If someone's that determined to 'send him a message' they're going to keep trying." Lestrade growled. "And you want to keep him in the dark?"  
"I intend to protect him." Mycroft said. "He mustn't be involved. If you do as he asks and tell him you found the plant matter at this scene... he will stop at nothing to try sort this out on his own. You must not let him chase this."  
  
Mycroft turned on his heel and began to walk away from Lestrade, who called back.  
"Is it just Sherlock who's at risk or..." He broke off, worry etched on his face and seeping through into his voice.  
"I believe his little family are also at stake. So I beg of you... do not divulge this information to him." He left, leaving Lestrade feeling cold in more ways than one.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: MYCROFT LIED TO SHERLOCK! Liar liar shop on fire! I am SO sorry about the long update time, my computer was in repair for a freaking month! I'm glad we're off hiatus! After you've left a review - come talk to me on tumblr TalksToSelf.


	10. Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas at 221b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: due to delays with laptops being in a repair shop this chapter seems a bit out of synch as it's set over the Christmas holidays. Sorry!

  
  
By the run up to Christmas, Sherlock was loudly bragging to anybody who would listen that Jay was so far ahead of the curve that she was already crawling. John didn't have the heart to tell him that Jay wasn't really 'crawling' it was more of an awkward shuffle, it was impressive certainly - but about average for a 6 month old. She dragged herself around the floor in a mock commando crawl, reaching out and tugging at the cardboard boxes full of ornaments as John decorated the tree.  
"Sherlock, you're supposed to be watching her." He moaned, having to sidestep the infant whilst searching for the lights.   
"I am watching her." Sherlock said unhelpfully from his position on the sofa. "She's exploring."  
"Yes." Sighed John. "She's exploring, great, but can she not explore while there's glass lying around? Occupy her with something." Aha, Christmas lights. John gave them a cursory check to ensure none of the bulbs had been broken during their time in the attic. He frowned, there was a sharp kink in the wire but a quick check seemed to prove it didn't seem to affect the functionality, one hundred and twenty five tiny fairy lights twinkled merrily and Jay squeaked in delight, making a beeline for them. Before she reached her destination and grabbed a bulb in her tiny fist, Sherlock intercepted her, scooping her up.  
  
"Come on small person, daddy gets terribly sentimental about Christmas and apparently you're in his way."   
"Oh don't say it like that." Complained the doctor, but he didn't miss the playful look Sherlock shot him. Jay seemed to be the only real joy in Sherlock's life at the moment and John wasn't going to take his whole 'I'm-the-favourite-parent' bit to heart. Sherlock hadn't so much as looked at a case in over a month and it was disconcerting. He could hear Sherlock and Jay in the bedroom having their own form of conversation, Sherlock replying avidly to everything Jay 'said' as though it was the most intellectually stimulating conversation he'd ever engaged in. If Sherlock was indeed her favourite parent, it was well earned, he'd given up everything for that little girl... but John hated it. Sherlock without a case was just... wrong.   
  
It didn't help that he and Greg seemed to have parted ways completely, despite attempts at damage control - Greg seemed even less keen to talk to Sherlock than vice versa and that was odd in itself. Except... Sherlock didn't seem miserable about it. He'd slipped into his own little domestic bubble, and while John was slightly relieved to not constantly stress over Sherlock's safety he wasn't sure he liked this toned-down, paternal, _normal_ Sherlock. It just wasn't him. He resolved to talk it over with him but every time he tried he found himself torn between the two worlds. He wanted excitement and risk and adrenaline but he also wanted Jay to be safe. The fact was that they would definitely have to be more careful, it was just about establishing the boundary between careful and mind-numbingly-tedious. There had to be a compromise.   
"Tonight." He resolved to himself, having to stand on tiptoe to put the star on the tree (stupid, tall tree). Tonight he would talk to Sherlock about it when they went to bed.  
  
Oh and there was that. The last few months had seen John regularly join Sherlock in his bed. Not every night and it wasn't something they ever really planned, some nights John just fell asleep there because he wanted to, some nights he got up to check on Jay and Sherlock shifted over to accommodate him. It just kind of happened. Which was exactly what John had been hoping for, really. There wasn't yet any pressure on them about what they were, their definitions or labels. He knew it was coming of course, it was a bit like running up a cliff, eventually they'd reach the top and have to decide - climb slowly back down or take the jump together.   
  
Except... John's resolve of 'tonight' became 'tomorrow night' then 'tomorrow night' became 'next week', pitiful excuses like ' _not while he's feeding the baby_ ' and ' _he said he's tired I don't want to stress him out_ ' cropped up more and more often in John's head. On Christmas morning he really had steeled himself to bring it up but found he genuinely couldn't bear to bring Sherlock - the cold hearted detective who loathed Christmas and all its phoney sentimentality - down from his natural high. He'd never outright say it, of course he wouldn't, but the sleepy smile as he carried Jay into the room on Christmas morning said it all.   
  
Being six months old, Jay was far more entertained with the jewel coloured wrapping papers and glittery ribbons - who needs a boring cuddly cat toy (courtesy of Aunty Molly) or another new bonnet (Mrs Hudson had been knitting again) when there was worlds of fun to be had with crinkly gift wrap? John pulled a metallic red sheet of the stuff in front of his face.  
"Peek a boo." He said playfully.  
"Oh don't." Sherlock groaned. "She hates that game." And sure enough, moments later Jay had burst into howls and wails. "She doesn't like not being able to see you." Sherlock explained, rubbing her back as she gnawed on 'that wretched toy rabbit' she loved so much, as a mean of comforting herself.  
"Normally kids love that..." John admitted, feeling a little hurt that he didn't know that about her. The pang of envy startled him slightly - Was he seriously jealous that Sherlock spent more time with her? He frowned, looking a little ashamed.   
"It's okay." Sherlock soothed, but he was talking to Jay. "He's right there, see." Sherlock directed Jay's blue eyed gaze back to John. She sniffled miserably, failing to understand why her daddy had left her, even if only for a short while. Wracked with guilt, John pulled her in for a quick cuddle on his knee while he sifted through his own meagre pile of presents. A bottle of whiskey from Harry, a new jumper and some biscuits from Mrs Hudson, a ridiculously fuzzy hot water bottle from Molly, he froze and laughed when he got to Greg's gift.  
  
"What?" Sherlock questioned, from the size and shape of the parcel Greg had left downstairs with Mrs Hudson (apparently he still didn't feel comfortable approaching the occupants of 221b directly), Sherlock had presumed (correctly) that it was a book. He was not prepared for John to shield Jay's eyes and hand Sherlock the copy of the Gay Kama Sutra. "Oh for god's sakes." Sherlock shook his head looking slightly angry but fighting an amused smile. The attached note read  
' _Because_ _apparently_ _it all goes downhill after you have a baby – GL_ '.  
"Bloody prat," John laughed.   
"He's one to talk, given the state his sex life is in - and that's without children." Sherlock sniffed, but noted that John set the book down carefully beside his other presents as though it were just as cherished. Sherlock sighed and started on his own pile of presents, mildly surprised by a few of them (John had actively forbidden him to see half of them beforehand, because he was sick of Sherlock deducing the contents and spoiling the surprise).   
  
He received a pair of cuff links from Greg ("I'm not even on speaking terms with the man, why would he send me a present?" Sherlock huffed indignantly), a truly horrendous knitted tea cosy from Mrs Hudson, a detailed anatomy journal signed by the author from Molly and an overly expensive gift from Mycroft that he didn't even bother to open.  
"He's your brother." John chided, bobbing Jay on his knee. She crackled a large cellophane ribbon in her tiny hand, giggling away at the noise it made.  
"He's a meddling prat." Sherlock argued. John rolled his eyes and vanished into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a box for Sherlock, in the time it had taken him to retrieve it, Sherlock had produced a much smaller box and handed it to John with no great ceremony.   
  
John opened his first, a perfectly wrapped thin blue box. Inside was a wallet, one that probably cost more than the entire contents of John's bank account never mind his old wallet.  
"Your old one looked a little faded." Sherlock said airily, as though it didn't matter one bit what John thought of his present giving abilities.  
"I love it." John said gratefully, careful not to trip up and say 'I love you' instead. He frowned, unsure why that had been on the tip of his tongue. Most likely true but certainly not the time or place for it. Obviously Christmas brought all John's hidden emotions a lot closer to the surface. "It's definitely better than the time you gave me an essay on how my career in the army was basically a Napoleon complex."  
"I keep telling you, Napoleon wasn't even short." Sherlock sighed exasperatedly as John examined the wallet - finely cured black leather, so soft to the touch it felt like the brush of a cold hand against his fingers, there were compartments for more cards than John owned, a change section, a note section and his heart leapt when he realised that in the photo window was a picture of Jay, asleep in her cot. Sherlock must have taken it. John's face lit up in a broad grin.   
  
"You still carry the ultrasound picture from Amy's key chain in your old wallet." Sherlock observed. "I thought you might like a more up to date picture." He still spoke absently but John knew he was waiting for approval, for confirmation that he'd done right.  
"Isn't your dad thoughtful, eh Bluejay?" John cooed at the little girl. Jay glanced briefly at him before sticking the wrapping paper in her mouth with one hand and jabbing at the photograph of herself with the other.  
"Ah!"  
"That's you, that's Bluejay!" She have another 'Ah!' of apparent agreement. "How did you get so clever, little one? Sooo clever." Her daddy praised her.  
"Again with the incessant baby talk. You're going to give her a speech impediment." Sherlock chided, but a small smile had crept onto his face and John knew his message had been received. Sherlock seemed equally pleased with his gift - a miniature speaker that mimicked bird calls (John _thought_ Sherlock must quite like birds, given how many books they had on the subject on their shelves).   
  
"They've recently discovered that birds speak in accents." He began, apparently enthralled. "A lot of animals do but it's easier to identify with birds. A pigeon from Birmingham for example has a much lower tone than that of a pigeon from Cardiff. Regionally speaking birds also tend to be quite well... racist - they much prefer a mate with an accent similar to their own..." And Sherlock was off, his excitable speech littered with the occasional ' _cheep_ ' or ' _caw_ ' from the small black box. John shook his head politely and kissed Jay's hair.  
"Your dad's a bit of a mad man." He whispered to her. "But we love him for it, okay." And there it was. He'd said it. Actually out loud. He loved Sherlock Holmes. He'd not said it to his face, but telling it to Jay had solidified it, made it real. He spent the rest of Christmas day with a stupidly large grin on his face, ignoring the bird calls ricocheting round the living room.   
  
The exhaustion crept in on him quickly. By 9pm he was about ready for bed. He'd go in and say goodnight to Jay and Sherlock first, he'd turn off the tree lights later, clear up the wrapping paper he'd meant to bin that morning but had instead shoved in a pile by the tree, and then he'd go to bed. (Whose bed was yet to be determined). He padded into Sherlock's room, long past the need for knocking. The man himself wasn't sleeping but was propped up on a pillow with Jay sound asleep on his chest. He raised a long spidery finger to his lips in a silent 'shh'.  
"I think she enjoyed her first Christmas." John whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking her hair.  
"Hm... I don't think she really understood it." Sherlock admitted, ever the realist. "She got some new toys, but she's always got toys and she ignores them in favour of that spit soaked rabbit thing, she liked the wrappings and the fairy lights but she's seen them ever since you put them up. No. I don't think she had the first clue that today was anything special. Mostly because it wasn't." John rolled his eyes, he leaned over Sherlock's chest and ran his fingers through Jay's downy baby hair. It was definitely black, darker even than Sherlock's, a rich onyx colour where it was coming through the thickest. John thought it made her look a little bit like a baby snow white.   
  
"Hair as black as ebony, skin as white as snow." He murmured. Sherlock diverted his eyes skyward and gently shifted her over to John.  
"Go on then, and don't wake her up." He added. "Took me ages to shut her up." John always felt a surge of pride when he was allowed to put her to bed - she lived in Sherlock's room, she stayed with Sherlock while John was at work, Sherlock mostly did the night feeds out of convenience. Sometimes, John guiltily thought that she was more Sherlock's daughter than his. He tucked her in carefully, marvelling at how 'big' she'd grown (she was still technically small by the health visitor's standards, but John remembered the tiny baby they'd brought home from the hospital all those months ago. This little girl was huge in comparison.)   
  
Sherlock shuffled over on the bed, pulling the covers back to signal John should join him.   
"I've got cleaning up to do in there..." John started. He really did, the mountain of wrapping paper needed to be cleared up, the lights needed to be put out... he'd already put the presents away but that had been out of convenience - nobody wanted bird calls at the dinner table.  
"I'll do it in a bit. We need to talk." John froze, nothing good _ever_ followed those words.  
"Oh..." John blinked. "We...do?"   
"Yes. We do." Sherlock nodded, looking very serious. John did not flail or panic, instead he clambered into bed beside the detective.   
"What's this about?" John asked cautiously. He'd had such a lovely day, he didn't really want to spoil it with talking about work but hell - this was a perfect opportunity and if it came up.   
"You know what it's about. The rhinoceros in the room*, so to speak." Sherlock said pointedly.  
"Right..." John bit his lip. This was either about work, or about them as a couple and he wasn't sure which route to take, so instead he remained silent, looking a little worried.   
"I think we should start Jay on solid food." Sherlock said, in a very straight forward tone. John couldn't help it. He laughed. Far too loudly. He had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself waking the baby.  
  
"It's not funny." Sherlock hissed quietly. "She's six months old now, she's showing an interest in our food and all the signs are there that she's ready to be introduced to baby porridge or fruit mash and... why on _earth_ are you laughing?"   
"Nothing." John chuckled, wiping his eyes. "Sorry I was expecting really deep, serious and... yeah. Yeah I'm happy to try her on baby food - in addition to her bottles." Sherlock nodded but he was frowning.  
"Deep and serious?" He questioned. "Have I missed something?" John shook his head, realising too late that he'd backed himself into a corner. "John..." Sherlock's tone was warning. John sighed. Well, there was no sense brushing it off and having Sherlock spend the next few days worrying and stressing over what John had been about to say.  
  
"You need to go back to work." John blurted. Sherlock looked alarmed, then he looked away.  
"I can't." He said, looking forlorn and fed up.   
"Yes you can. Talk to Greg."  
"I don't want..." Sherlock started.  
"But that's exactly it Sherlock. You DO want. I can see it." John frowned. "You've had a scare and I get that, believe me I do - soldiers, doctors, apparently consulting detectives, sooner or later we all get something that shakes us, makes us wonder why the hell we're doing it but... Sherlock it's killing you. I can see how... bored you are." He sighed softly. "Jay complicates things, I know. You're right... some things are just too dangerous but it doesn't have to be all or nothing. You are brilliant at what you do." Sherlock made to interrupt him but John held up his hand. "Let me finish. Not only are you bloody brilliant at it - you love doing it. Sooner or later it will hit you exactly how much you miss it and I don't want you to end up resenting Jay... or me... for the fact that you can't go out there and take on the world any more."  
"I would never..." Sherlock tried again but once more John hushed him.   
"Just be a bit more picky, take cases that don't involve any of us being at risk... I love that you stay home with Jay, really I do." John said seriously, once more neatly avoiding adding 'you' after 'I love'. "But neither myself, nor you, not even Jay are going to be happy if you're not being Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, world's biggest smartarse." John smiled, a genuine soft expression that caused a warm stir in Sherlock's chest.  
  
"I don't want any of you to get hurt because of me." Sherlock growled, but he looked so torn.   
"Sherlock... our safety is priority for you, I understand, just as your safety as priority to me and Jay. But..." John's words took on a stilted, awkward quality as he attempted to word this in a way that didn't sound like it was from the script of a corny romance film. "We want you to be happy. That matters too."  
"I _am_ happy." Sherlock snapped, in what had to be the unhappiest tone imaginable. John shifted just a tiny bit closer to his friend, his flatmate, his co-parent and his love interest.   
"But you're not yourself." He said very softly.   
"You'd really..." Sherlock licked his bottom lip absently. "You'd be okay with it? Just... minor cases... when you're not at work." John smiled, Sherlock sounded so uncertain - as though he expected John to have an ulterior motive. It always filled John with an odd sense of unease and joy that Sherlock did not expect to be cared for. He was grateful for it, that Sherlock allowed him this close, but he was conflicted that nobody ever had been this close. Nobody had ever cared for Sherlock this much and it made him a naturally suspicious person.  
"It's what we agreed after we brought her home isn't it? I'd be ecstatic if I could see your 'the game is on' face again." The doctor said earnestly. "And anyway, when Jay gets a bit bigger, she'll get to proudly tell all her teachers and her friends that her dad is Sherlock Holmes - consulting detective."  
  
Sherlock looked touched. John's hand found its way to Sherlock's hair and brushed a few curls back absently.   
"You can still be her dad and be yourself, Sherlock. There is _nothing_ wrong with you." He murmured, his breath stilling in his lungs as he suddenly realised how close their faces were. John wasn't sure which one of them leaned in first, just that somehow they were kissing. Slow and tentative, lips exploring cautiously. Sherlock leaned back, laying flat on the bed and John went with him, hovering above and maintaining the gentle kiss. This was exactly what John had been trying to tell Sherlock for months now - there was no sexuality crisis, no panic. It was perfect. Just a soft meeting and parting of their mouths as they kissed like they had all the time in the world.   
  
Then the world stopped and their very beings flooded with panic as a shrill high pitched wailing pierced the moment in the heart, killing it stone cold dead. The one sound that instantly terrifies everyone, the sound that wakes the street. John wrenched himself away from Sherlock, who had stiffened. They raced out of bed and John bundled Jay into his arms. Sherlock was on his feet and dived for the door.   
"Take Jay and get out!" He had to roar to be heard over the sound of the smoke alarm.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Uh oh! Fire in the hole! Updates should definitely be more regular now. Reviews are the most amazing thing in the world. *nods vigorously*
> 
> *The rhinoceros in the room. This is one of the weird things that probably only my family say, generally speaking the expression is 'The Elephant in the room' however, my mum is blind and says if there were an elephant in the room, provided she didn't walk smack bang into it, she wouldn't even notice it. We figure a rhinoceros is smaller but it charges around, knocks everything over, causes a lot of mess and makes a lot of noise. An elephant in the room is something you can chose to ignore - A rhinoceros in the room is something you can't ignore because it's causing so much trouble.


	11. The Universe Gets Lazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's paranoia comes to a head - but is it paranoia if someone really is after you? Apparently, yes.

They walked smack bang into a mini inferno, the furthest living room wall ablaze in a roar of orange flames.   
"OUT!" Sherlock ordered, ushering John and Jay onto the staircase as he himself dived for the fire extinguishers in the kitchen (usually used to douse experiments gone awry). John hammered on Mrs Hudson's door, and when she answered he dragged her, frightened and bewildered, out into the cold December air. John dialled 999 and shouted their location into the receiver. Waiting was torture. He could tell from the windows that the fire had not yet spread out of the living room, which must mean that Sherlock was handling it and that his escape route was not yet blocked, but that didn't make John any calmer. He was about to shove Jay at Mrs Hudson (who was stood shivering in her nightie and clucking her teeth, no doubt thinking this _was_ one of Sherlock's experiments gone awry) when Sherlock staggered out. He had his sleeve over his face and was coughing but he didn't look too damaged. The orange glow from the living room window proved that Sherlock had not managed to quell the flame and they could only stand in the street below and watch, knowing it wasn't worth risking their lives to save material possessions.  
  
The sirens, the fire engines, the police and ambulances all followed. John had never seen Sherlock look quite so outwardly distressed. He was not angry, he was not sad, he was frightened and jittery. A medic tried to give him an oxygen mask and he batted them away. This was Sherlock Holmes when faced with fire. John wondered how he'd ever thought Sherlock could be an arsonist, the look on his face wasn't of someone who enjoyed fire, it was the look of someone who was so utterly terrified that he was in shock. John carefully passed a still wailing Jay to Mrs Hudson and went over to tend to Sherlock. There were no burns, slight smoke inhalation and definite signs of shock. The detective's eyes were wide and scared, they were unfocused and distant. John slipped the oxygen mask on over his mouth and this time Sherlock did not fight it. He also wrapped a bright orange shock blanket over his shoulders, making sure to leave his hand on Sherlock's bicep much longer than necessary.  
  
Greg wandered over, he must have come with the police escort.   
"What the hell happened?" He asked, looking a bit paler than usual. John hadn't seen Greg in ages, he absently thought the man seemed to have lost weight, looking pinched and worn.  
"I don't know... we were in bed and then..." John looked up at 221b forlornly.   
"Bloody hell... are any of you hurt?" He asked, casting his eyes round to look for Jay among the hubbub.   
"No... no we're uninjured." John fielded as Sherlock heaved laboured breaths through the mask - more a sign of panic than of smoke inhalation. John squeezed his arm gently in an attempt at reassurance. Sherlock's panic had sent him almost catatonic. John glanced throughout the crowd. Jay would calm Sherlock down, she always did. Except, John didn't want to leave Sherlock like this. "Greg, go ask Mrs H for Jay, bring her over. Sherlock could do with seeing her." Greg disappeared into the throng and John thought he must have imagined it, but he could have sworn Greg gave Sherlock a very guilty apology in the backward glance he threw them.   
  
Still Sherlock was silent. Even as Greg returned their daughter to her rightful place, as John sat beside Sherlock with one arm around him and Jay cradled tightly to his chest - Sherlock seemed frozen. Until a bright flash of light stole all of their attentions. Greg moved quickly, but Sherlock moved quicker, snatching the camera from the photographer and throwing it onto the floor, smashing what was easily a six hundred pound piece of equipment into a dozen or so pieces. Sherlock wrenched his oxygen mask off and roared.  
"It is the middle of Christmas night, our flat just burned down and you have the audacity to try photograph it for your stupid rag!?" Greg held him back to stop him hitting the young paparazzo, who looked fearful. "Our daughter is NOT your commodity, she's not your 'story'!" John had worried about the day they would be exposed to the press. He had feared the backlash that would occur when the world discovered the rumours were true. But right now he had bigger problems. He'd worry about what the newspapers said tomorrow.   
  
"Sherlock." He warned, rocking Jay gently. "Leave him be, he's just an idiot trying to make a living." Greg was having to physically manhandle Sherlock away from the boy now, Sherlock was spitting mad.   
"Oh don't fuel their fire Sherlock, the last thing you need right now is a lawsuit." Said a cold voice and everyone turned to see Mycroft, who had pulled up in a car while nobody was looking. The eldest Holmes sibling glanced at the paparazzo "Leave." He ordered.  
"My cam..." The young man started awkwardly.  
"Give me your business card and I shall ensure the damage is paid for." The boy fumbled in his pockets and found a mass produced 'business card' with his name and number on it. He bent down and scooped up the remnants of his camera before fleeing the scene.  
  
"Mycroft." Sherlock croaked weakly, looking for all the world like a scared little boy as he went limp in Greg's arms. "Look." He rasped, jerking his head to the flat.   
"Hm. Looks like they're all finished." Mycroft mused as the firemen began to trudge out of the flat, their boots trekking water and soot all over Mrs Hudson's hall carpet.  
"What caused it?" Lestrade asked the fire chief as he removed his mask. Reluctantly Greg let go of Sherlock who didn't seem quite right on his own feet.  
"Christmas tree lights." The chief said grimly, eyeing Sherlock apprehensively as he fell against Mycroft's shoulder. The chief suspected this one needed medical attention. Mycroft appeared more alarmed at his brother actually leaning against him than the fire chief's words. John groaned loudly.  
"Oh for fuck's sake." He shook his head in despair. "There was a kink in the wire - it must have shorted... I... I didn't even think that it might be a fire hazard."  
"We see it a lot at this time of year." Said the chief, shaking his head. "And those plastic trees go up in seconds. Your living room is going to need renovating, and there's some smoke damage to the kitchen and hallway."  
  
"Wrong." Sherlock whispered, practically against Mycroft's neck. The government official could not have looked more uncomfortable.  
"I think there is mate..." The chief sighed exasperatedly. He wasn't good with the ones who went into shock. The ones who screamed and roared and wailed were easy, the ones who quietly denied anything was going on... those were the scary ones.  
"No." Sherlock growled. "You're wrong about the cause." John raised an eyebrow. Mycroft sighed. Greg shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. But it was Jay's cry that caught Sherlock's attention. He stared at her for a long moment, tilting his head to the left as though puzzled.   
"Sherlock." Mycroft warned. "Think before you speak. Sorry, it would appear my brother is in a state of distress. Will officer Lestrade be allowed in to collect some things for them? Clothing, baby formula, etcetera?" His tone was forcibly polite.   
"Pack two bags." Sherlock instructed, straightening himself up as best he could. "John, you need to take Jay and go stay with your sister for a few days. I'll be staying in London to sort this mess out." He gestured vaguely at the flat and tried to ignore John's heavy frown.  
  
"A word in private, love?" John asked through clenched teeth. Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes and dismissed the crowd with a wave of his hands until just the three of them stood together.  
"Don't call me 'love', sounds ridiculous." Sherlock muttered, still looking unsteady on his feet.  
"What do you mean 'wrong', Sherlock?" John asked quietly. "You don't think that fire was an accident...?" Sherlock glanced away. "Oi. No. None of this. We're a team and if you think for even a second that this was foul play or..." John began indignantly.  
"John, shut up." Sherlock hissed quietly. "Do you trust me?"  
"Implicitly." John did not hesitate to answer.   
"I don't know if there's something going on here." Sherlock replied. "But I can't go digging around and asking questions and making a scene, no matter how much I want to." He whispered with a quiet urgency. "I need you to take Jay and to leave London, tonight. I'll get it sorted. Give me two weeks." Sherlock swore. John hated this, he hated being left out of the loop. He needed to know the truth, all of it, but he knew Jay was their priority and he could hardly send her to Harry's alone.  
  
"You're to call me every day," John ordered, rocking Jay gently, it was far too cold for her to be out here without a blanket. "You miss one phone call and I'll be on the first train back." He threatened. Sherlock nodded. He looked at their daughter, cold, tired and distressed. He was not one for public displays of affection, but bowed down to kiss her forehead anyway, regardless of who may see it.   
"You keep her safe, John." Sherlock instructed, and backed away without a goodbye. He ignored the heart wrenching feeling in his chest as a taxi sped John, Jay and a bag full of their things away. He approached Mycroft and Lestrade, who were huddled together whispering.  
  
"I want Anderson." Sherlock said firmly.  
"What?" Lestrade laughed awkwardly.   
"Anderson and his team, the full forensics. I want them here, first thing in the morning." He demanded, tone firm and gaze determined.  
"Sherlock, the fire chief has already concluded..." Mycroft began in a warning tone.  
"Ah yes, the fire chief... have you bought him off too? Paid, threatened or bribed him to lie to me like you did with Lestrade?" Sherlock jerked his head at the Detective Inspector, who could not hide the brief flash of guilt across his face. "I'm investigating this myself, and I'll be damned if either of you think you're stopping me. I'm heading the team and I'm not letting YOU modify the findings." He hissed at the two, before stomping off to find Mrs Hudson.  
  
"This wasn't an accident, was it?" Greg whispered, looking at the burnt out window of 221b.  
"Honestly..." Mycroft mused. "I don't know... it doesn't fit the attackers pattern,"  
"They set the place on fire, of course it fits." Lestrade looked rightfully confused at Mycroft's logic.   
"Yes." The British Government said with a thin smile. "But they didn't try to take anything." Lestrade blinked in bewilderment - as far as he knew nothing had been taken from the crime scenes - what did Mycroft know that he didn't? "Let Sherlock investigate, I think he'll find this is nothing but a nasty coincidence. The perpetrator of these crimes is not seeking them out directly just yet." He walked away from the scene.  
  


* * *

  
  
"IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE!" Sherlock roared, hurling the microscope slide at the wall. Molly squeaked and jumped several feet in the air. Sherlock paced and pulled at his hair. "All the evidence suggests this was a freak accident... HOW!?" He demanded, rounding on the mousy woman.   
"Sherlock you're scaring me!" Molly warned, frightened. Sherlock blinked, looking down at himself. He hadn't slept in days, his hair was a mess, his clothes were dirty, and he'd just shouted at Molly for easily the 50th time. He went over the evidence again, no accelerant, localised damage, striations on the floor to suggest the wire had 'popped' before igniting. It had to have been an accident. Sherlock nodded grimly, and went to sweep up the slide - as if analysing the melted tree branches would have helped.  
  
"Sherlock why do you think this wasn't an accident?" Molly asked softly, appearing at his side with a dustpan. "Who'd want to hurt you? Or John? Or that beautiful little baby girl of yours?" She sniffled, filled with concern.   
"Nobody, apparently." Sherlock said dejectedly from his position, kneeling on the floor. He looked up at Molly - she was not John. John was still at Harry's, with Jay. Sherlock hated himself for it, hated that he finally believed what Mycroft had been trying to warn him against. Hated that his paranoia had chased them away.  "Molly... I think I'm losing my mind."   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Oooh dear. Is Sherlock actually just a paranoid mess or is there something much bigger and badder going on here? Suppose you're going to have to stick around. Leave some reviews and stuff while you're waiting.


	12. Mixed Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tells John he doesn't want a relationship with him, Mycroft starts to tell John a story and someone has a sinister message for our favourite duo.

  
John's face showed concern and fear as he stepped through the door to 221b after 3 long weeks away, but Sherlock's mind was elsewhere.   
"It looks... alright." John admitted, glancing at the new décor, almost identical to the old one... even down to the bullet holes and the smiley face. Those had to have been destroyed - the wall had been repapered, meaning Sherlock had deliberately recreated the graffiti. Worrisome. Sherlock was laid out on the sofa, having not even acknowledged John and Jay's return. John sighed and placed Jay's car seat on the floor while he lugged their bags back upstairs. When he returned Sherlock was crouched down over her.  
"She's grown." The apparently retired detective said in a hollow tone.  
"Yep. They do that." John agreed cautiously. "You uh... you missed some milestones..." He added nervously. He knew how meticulous Sherlock had been about writing the important things down, however, Sherlock looked unperturbed - his face a blank mask, even when Jay reached her little fist up and bopped him on the nose by way of greeting.  
  
"I uh... I made notes, and you got the picture messages right? Like you said it was time for solid food... she likes the jar of apple stuff..." Sherlock reacted the way any normal person would, with a nod and a glance, John frowned - something was very wrong. "And you missed her first word."  
"Nonsense." Sherlock said, showing the first sign of emotion since their return by looking indignant. "She's less than 7 months old, she's clever but the misconception that infants 'talk' at such a young age is idiots believing their children possess great talents beyond their means, monosyllabic babbling such as 'dada' and 'mama' are common but they have no knowledge of appropriate usage until at least 9 months old." He recited - most likely from the baby book. Sherlock lifted her out of the car seat and onto his hip.   
"Yes well, she's not STOPPED saying it since so I think she knows exactly what it means..." John protested weakly, making for the kettle. He was in desperate need of a cup of tea, Harry was back on the wagon and whilst she had adored Jay enough to stay sober for the duration of their stay, the only drink she had in was a ridiculously strong brand of instant coffee that tasted like old car tyres.   
  
"What is it?" Sherlock queried. "The most common 'first word' before an _actual_ first word is 'mama' because the mmm sound is easier to make. 'Duh' and 'Tuh' etcetera are harder to grasp because they require the usage of the tongue." He bobbed Jay gently in his arms and she cooed happily, sucking on her sleeve.  
"Yes, okay fine it's 'mama', but it's cute alright, and she only uses it for me." John opened the newly lacquered kitchen cupboard to get the teabags, before frowning. A large brown bottle took up half of the space not occupied by the teabags, he recognised it as a medical prescription and took it down. Fluoexetine - common enough SSRI used for anxiety and depression. John blinked, glancing at Sherlock, who seemed fine if a little reserved. SSRI's took weeks to kick in and there were approximately 10 missing from a monthly supply... He put them back and went back to making the tea, his stomach twisting in knots.   
  
"You uh... okay, Sherlock?" John asked, bringing the cups through.  
"Hm? Oh yes, fine." Sherlock said distractedly, wriggling Jay's rabbit in front of her face and watching her snatch for it.   
"It's just we haven't really talked about..." He trailed off awkwardly. How was this sort of conversation even started. 'By the way is someone trying to kill us or have you lost your marbles' seemed inappropriate.   
"Oh, yes... the kiss." Sherlock hummed, frowning slightly. Ah. The kiss. Well, they could talk about that as well. "I believe I owe you an apology John." Sherlock said crisply, looking up at the doctor. John smiled and shook his head.  
"No, you don't, it's fine really I've kind of been expecting it." He said with a grin which only seemed to intensify the detective's frown.  
"That's what I need to apologise for... I think I may have given you the wrong impression." Sherlock said softly. "It's natural I suppose... we're raising a child together, wires get crossed." John sat up and paid attention trying to read Sherlock's face but the man had become unreadable, his face calm and blank. "So if I somehow gave you the impression that I desired a romantic relationship with you... then I apologise." He said sincerely. John felt cold.  
  
This wasn't right. Something was wrong. Sherlock wasn't telling the whole truth.  
"But _you_ kissed me..." He argued, because regardless of who started the kiss Sherlock had definitely returned it. Sherlock pursed his lips.   
"Perhaps, but we can't let something like that happen again, John." Jay grabbed at her rabbit and tugged it out of Sherlock's hands as if to tell him he did not deserve to cuddle with rabbit if he was going to upset mama. "Emotions are high, we're running on little sleep, it impairs our judgement," Sherlock began but John held up a hand.  
"Stop it." He said in a low, dangerous tone. "Just... just stop it." He growled and sipped his tea, ignoring Sherlock's furrowed brow.   
"Our present arrangement is more than satisfactory..." Sherlock tried again.  
"Shut up." John warned, because he was annoyed. They had made so much progress and now Sherlock was back-pedalling, erasing it all like it was meaningless excess data. John hadn't been imagining it, he was certain that he and Sherlock had been heading down that path. There was something dodgy about all of it.  
"I'm going to put her to bed." Sherlock said with a sigh, standing up and carrying Jay towards the bedroom. "If I have upset you..."  
"Yes." John said bluntly. "You have." Sherlock bowed his head and nodded, disappearing into his bedroom.   
  
Jay stared at him intensely, most likely due to their hasty departure. It stood to reason that she was looking at him because she missed him. Sherlock, however, thought he saw critical wisdom in those eyes.   
"Oh stop it." He muttered at her. "It had to be done." He placed her in the cot and she continued to glare at him, as though betrayed.   
  


* * *

  
  
Things were tense over the next few months, Jay's teething meant they were up and down like yo-yos and John felt that sleeping in Sherlock's room, while convenient, would be inappropriate after being so bluntly rejected. Sherlock seemed to have regressed - he barely spoke to anybody other than Jay . John was at his wits' end by the time Jay was 9 months old and not just for the fact she'd taken to crawling properly and even walking by clinging on to furniture, skirting around tables and chairs. He didn't know what to do about Sherlock, who didn't seem depressed or anxious, he just seemed sort of empty. Whatever had made Sherlock Sherlock seemed to have died the night of the fire and John hadn't realised it was possible to miss someone so much while living in the same house.   
  
It was sheer desperation that lead him to inviting Mycroft for tea one day while Sherlock was out pestering Molly for child-friendly experiment idea s . The elder Holmes brother seemed unsurprised by his summons, sweeping in and looking very out of place amongst the mountain of brightly coloured toys that had taken up residence in 221b.   
"John..." He said curtly , managing to look mildly offended by all the child paraphernalia cluttering the flat.   
"Mycroft." John said in an equally cool tone.  
"Mama!" Jay chirped. Originally she had babbled it repeatedly at John, choosing to ignore Harry. Sherlock had been right about her not knowing what it meant though because now anybody she even remotely approved of was addressed as 'mama', which Mrs Hudson had found adorable. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her choice of moniker  but sat down opposite John who poured them both a mug of tea. Jay crawled beneath the coffee table and set about stacking plastic cups as though it were a very important task. John smiled down at her and ruffled her hair.  
  
"I'm worried about him." John said in a matter of fact tone. Mycroft smiled sadly.  
"Yes, I know the feeling." He agreed.  
"I'm not playing games any more, I'm not being vague and mysterious here - I want the truth." John ordered seriously. Mycroft was startled by a tiny pair of hands on his knee as Jay pulled herself up to a shaky  stand ing position , leaning against his legs under the table for balance . He peered down at the small person, locking her big blue eyes on his. "Mycroft I need to know what's going on..." John pleaded. "He was happy... he was bloody ecstatic and now... It's like he's not even there any more. He was acting oddly before the fire but..." Mycroft sighed.  He had no intention of making matters worse for Sherlock but John seemed to be the one person who could get through to him.  
  
"Mycroft I am a stubborn bastard and a proud git." John said firmly. "But I am asking nicely, please..." Mycroft sighed again, heavier this time.   
" You appreciate that if I tell you this he will never speak to me again?" Mycroft asked in a slow drawl, seemingly trans fix ed by the little girl.  Jay was adopted, there was not a chance in hell that she was Sherlock's daughter but her dark hair (even darker than Sherlock's now) and vibrant eyes made Mycroft remember the lost little boy he had grown up with. He shook his head. "But I would rather he never spoke to me again in his lifetime... than for him to wind up dead, which is where I fear this may lead." Mycroft said quietly, reaching down and for the very first time he touched Jay, letting his fingers play lightly at the black strands of hair as he pushed them from her forehead.  
  
" Our father died when Sherlock was..." He began only for the door to open and said detective to  storm through the door with a vehemence that suggested he had been eavesdropping . He scowled at his brother, swooped down under the table and plucked Jay from where she was.   
"Nice of you to drop by, Mycroft." Sherlock said coldly , shooting an icy look at his co-parent. "I'll be sure to ring if I need my privacy invaded, until then..." He waved Jay's hand in a vague 'goodbye' motion at his older brother. "Ta-ta."  Sherlock hissed and almost obediently - knowing he had crossed a line,  Mycroft stood.   
"Very well then, I'll leave you to your domestic bliss." Mycroft said sarcastically, and swept from the flat, abandoning his tea. John licked his upper lip nervously as Sherlock rounded on him.   
  
"Calling my brother?" He demanded.  
"Sherlock..." John began, attempting to nip the rant in the bud.  
"I am appalled at how childish you can be!" Sherlock snapped, whirling aroun d and plonking Jay back on the carpet. She sat back to watch the fireworks, gnawing on her cloth rabbit.  
"I'm childish? For god's sakes if you'd just speak to me!" John growled furiously.  
"Speak to you? Or sleep with you?" Sherlock fumed. "That's what this is about isn't it? I said I don't want a relationship and you start running off and colluding with _Mycroft_ ?" Sherlock spat, he began to pace as he spoke.  
"Oh for... no! This isn't about that!" John raised his voice, nearly shouting now. "It's about worrying about your bloody mental health! I'm a DOCTOR  for crying out loud, you don't think I know what I'm doing? Sherlock , I am waking up some mornings frightened that I'm going to find you've gone the same way as Miss One-twenty-seven!" Sherlock's eyes widened in horror.  
"I would never..." He hissed.  
  
"Then why have you completely shut yourself off! You're not in love with me - fine, fuck it, I'll get over it. You sever contact with Greg, and start wars with your brother, you ignore me and the rest of the world! You stop working! Yet you expect me not to worry? What am I supposed to think, Sherlock?  I don't even know you any more! " He roared. "What am I supposed to do?"  
"I never said I wasn't in love with you!" Sherlock howled in frustration. "I said I didn't want to be in a relationship with you!"  
"There's a difference?" John demanded. Sherlock was about to snap a retort when his phone rang. He was grateful for the distraction and even though John tried to snatch it from him he answered it with a barked.  
"Hello?" John rolled his eyes dramatically. At least fighting was better than not talking at all, and Sherlock had just very much implied that he did in fact have feelings for him - that was a positive step, right? He saw Sherlock's face go paler than usual, ghost white and frightened.  
"She's alive though?" Sherlock asked. John's heart began to race - something was wrong. "We'll be right there." He hung up and stared at John.  
  
"Molly's been attacked... minutes after I left her." Sherlock said softly, and all of John's anger dissipated  as quickly as the colour had left Sherlock's cheeks.   
"Oh god... who by?" John asked, feeling his heart wrench at the idea of Molly being injured.  He liked Molly, she was a good mate - in fact John had always suspected he and Molly would have been best friends if it weren't for the painful fact they were both in love with the same man.   
"I don't know, Lestrade's with her now at the hospital..." Sherlock had not yet removed his coat, he grabbed for John's and threw it at him.  
"That's awful... we're both going to see her?"   
"Leave Jay with Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said, picking her up and making sure she had the stupid cloth rabbit he loathed so much. He hated leaving Jay but she'd seen far too many hospitals in her short little life, and this could be dangerous.  
  
"I only meant... why? I mean, we won't be much use to her after an attack?" John said pulling on his jacket and grabbing Jay's travel bag to bring downstairs. Sherlock looked sad.  
"Because... the first thing Molly told Lestrade when she regained consciousness... was that her attacker had said he was delivering a message for Sherlock Holmes  and John Watson ." There was a time this sort of thing would have thrilled Sherlock, now he only looked pale and grave. John nodded.   
"I'm in," He agreed.  He made sure they both gave Jay a kiss before handing her and rabbit over to a slightly bewildered Mrs Hudson.   
  
And it was terribly wrong, far too close to home to feel like a proper case, but  as they raced out of the door towards the hospital,  John felt a pulse of adrenaline and for just a short period of time things felt back to what passed for normal.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I'm sorry this chapter took so long and I'm sorry that me apologising tends to be a recurring theme but we are heading towards the climax of this story. Poor Sherlock, poor Molly! Reviews are very helpful xx.


	13. The Horror Story (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get scary

  
Hospitals. John had seen enough hospitals over the last year to last him a lifetime. Molly was conscious when they arrived, Greg by her side holding her hand. She looked pale and frightened, drenched in her own blood. Sherlock's pale eyes swept her form.  
"What did they look like?" He demanded, eyes on the golf ball sized lump on Molly's forehead currently being stitched up by a nurse.  
"I... I don't know..." Molly said looking a bit bewildered.  
"Look, Sherlock, she's been through a lot..." Greg began but was silenced with a fierce look from the detective - it was obvious nobody could stop him when he got in one of those moods, a speeding freight train couldn't.  
"Message for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson." Sherlock barked, raking his gaze up and down his friend's figure. "They said nothing else?" He asked, eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right. Molly's shirt was drenched in blood, stuck to her back, but the wound on her head could not have bled that much or in that position. Molly was trembling and John crossed the room to hold her other hand.  
  
"Anything at all?" John asked gently, happy to be a source of comfort but noticing she gripped Greg's hand much tighter than his own. Sherlock licked his lips and did as much of a circle of her hospital bed as he could manage.  
"Uhm... a man..." Molly murmured. "He came in and asked if Sherlock was around... when I said he'd just left he said he had a message for you both and then... I don't know... something hit me. I woke up and my head was throbbing, my back was stinging... oh and Greg was holding me to his chest... I could hear his heart beat... that was kind of nice." She mumbled, a slight pink tinge appearing on her pale cheeks.  
"Your back..." Sherlock offered with a click of his teeth.  
"We've had a perfunctory look - minor scratches, superficial in comparison. Our concern is the head trauma that rendered her unconscious, we'll clean the scratches after." The doctor said dismissively.  
"That's because you're an idiot." Sherlock snapped at the doctor and Molly winced as he pulled another stitch.  
  
"Sherlock!" Greg scolded. "Look I know that you're worried but there is no need to..." He began but Sherlock held up a hand to silence him once more.  
" _Corpus Delicti._ " Sherlock whispered.  
"Body of proof." Molly said, Sherlock smiled thinly at her in return, a silent compliment for her intelligence.  
"Body of proof." The detective agreed with a hum. "Your body in fact. Molly, I'm going to need you to remove your shirt." Greg blanched, John's eyes widened and the doctor coughed awkwardly.  
  
"I..." Molly looked up at him searchingly, trying to figure out what he was asking of her. She saw no ill motive on his face and to the surprise of everyone else in the room she began unbuttoning her blouse. John looked away politely, Greg gaped in surprise. Sherlock paid no mind to her breasts, circling to her back to stare at the bloody mess. There was too much blood, he could make head nor tails of the scratch markings on her back. He held his hand out to the doctor.  
"Sterile wash." He demanded.  
"Look, that's my job and I'll get to it in a minute." The doctor sighed, frustrated by Sherlock's back seat medical intervention. Sherlock glared at the man, pure venom in his eyes. Grumbling the doctor set about gingerly washing the excess blood from Molly's back to reveal letters, shallowly carved into Molly's skin.  
  
John and Sherlock simultaneously felt their blood run cold in their veins and bolted from the room.  
"Jesus!" Greg said through a choked voice. He grabbed Molly, kissed her firmly on the lips and then ran after his terrified friends.  
"What... what does it say?!" Molly called after them, despite the thrum of excitement that ought to follow a kiss she only felt fear as she pushed past the doctor and found her way to a bathroom, turning her back and looking over her shoulder. A shiver ran down her spine as there, scored into her pale flesh like it had been burned on,and still bleeding from being cleaned were the chilling words  
  
 **WHO'S WATCHING THE BABY?**  
  
Greg caught up to them in the car park.  
"I'll drive!" He promised, it would be quicker than trying to flag down a taxi, even with Sherlock's uncanny knack of magicking them out of thin air. He grabbed the siren and threw it on top of his car.  
"Baker Street, she was with Mrs Hudson." Sherlock growled, hopping into the passenger seat beside the DI who began to radio round, sending cars and ambulances.  
"Why the FUCK did we leave her?" John raged as they sped off, burying his head in his hands. "Oh God, Sherlock what the hell is going on?" John seethed. Sherlock had been keeping things from him - if he had known the whole story was there a chance this wouldn't have happened? John couldn't allow himself to think like that but...  
"I DON'T KNOW!" Sherlock roared back.They were well over the speed limit now but they weren't going fast enough. Sherlock and John needed to be there and teleportation itself would not have got them there quick enough.  
"Calm down!" Greg growled. "Fighting won't help her!" John nodded grimly, shifting back and forth in his seat and watching Sherlock as he tore at his usually perfect nails with his teeth.  
  
They got there before the police back up and ambulance had arrived, barging in through an unlocked door to Mrs Hudson's flat. The elderly landlady lay slumped in her chair, John ran to her and checked for a pulse while Sherlock searched in vain for Jay who was nowhere to be seen.  
"She's alive." John breathed, easing Mrs Hudson into a more comfortable position.  
"The tea was drugged." Greg said, nodding at the spilled mug while John ran his hand down his face. For a split second the reality of it all was obscured by panic, for a moment the air in the flat stood still and there was deathly silence.  
  
Then a loud crash as Sherlock kicked the table hard enough to knock Mrs Hudson's china to the floor, he fisted both hands in his hair and tugged at his curls.  
"No no no no no!" He chanted shaking his head and sending his curls askew. John paced, scrubbing his face and trying to stay calm but he couldn't, he couldn't stay still, even hearing the sirens approaching wasn't enough - they were too late. His daughter, their daughter, was out there somewhere. Kidnapped. His fake-lover had been lying and keeping secrets that had possibly cost Jay her life. John trembled with the effort of not screaming at the injustice of it all.  
"Sherlock..." Greg said, pointing shakily. By the mirror on Mrs Hudson's mantle was a bouquet of daisies. Sherlock nodded grimly, looking close to tears.  
"I know..." he croaked.  
  
The scream of the sirens got closer and brightly coloured medics barged in to take Mrs Hudson.  
"Be careful this is a crime scene!" Lestrade snapped as they swarmed the elderly lady. It wasas they lifted her, her frame went limp and Jay's cloth rabbit fell from her lap to the floor. John stared at it, broken and hollow, before picking it up and holding it to him. Clutching it to his chest he walked outside, amid the hubbub and the sirens and the chatter, he just walked away from Sherlock and Greg. Mrs Hudson would be fine, she was being loaded into an ambulance, still fast asleep. They hadn't killed Mrs Hudson... that was a good sign right? Perhaps it meant the kidnappers wanted a peaceful transaction. John didn't care what the ransom was - he'd have paid it in a heartbeat. He just wanted her home. He felt a hand on his shoulder but he didn't turn.  
"Where is she?" John asked, an ice in his tone usually heard from Sherlock.  
"I don't know." His partnerreplied softly from behind him, squeezing his shoulder gently. "We'll find her, John. We will move heaven and earth and we _will_ find her." He promised. John trembled and turned towards Sherlock, who once had been so cold and distant, yet now wrapped his arms around John, pulling him into a tight embrace and just holding John as he shook.  
  
"What if she's dead?" John asked softly. Sherlock had never been one to sugar coat the truth, he hated the idea that it was a distinct possibility.  
"Then we will still find her and we will still bring her home." Sherlock whispered, angling his head to kiss John's hair.  
"Sherlock... what the fuck is going on?" John demanded, fury suddenly hitting him and replacing the sadness and fear. "You have lied to me." He hissed. "You have kept things from me. We have been targeted, our house nearly burned down, our friend was beaten and now our daughter has been kidnapped so for the love of god you had better start telling me the truth!" he wrenched himself from Sherlock's grasp.  
"I did something bad... awful in fact. Years ago..." Sherlock began, with a look of pure devastation marring his handsome features.Before he could continue, his phone beeped with an incoming message. He yanked it from his pocket and opened it, his face was pale as he turned the screen to John.  
  
A picture message. Jay was alive and well in it, holding a rag-doll and looking unharmed - that ought to have been a relief but the accompanying text made John's heart plummet to his stomach.  
 _ **Come and play**_ _ **with us**_ _ **, daddy. JM**_ **.**  
"Moriarty." Sherlock whispered.  "This is... this is good." Sherlock concluded, nodding slowly.  
"Good?" John asked in disbelief. "GOOD?!" He howled. "That monster that... that MANIAC has our daughter and you think this is GOOD!?" He swung back his hand, ready to punch Sherlock - he needed someone to target. Sherlock closed his palm over John's fist, not applying enough pressure to force John to stop but certainly enough to calm him down enough to think it through.  
"I know how Moriarty works!" He argued, staring at their hands as though they were the only thing keeping him tethered to some kind of sanity.  "He won't kill her." He said confidently.  
  
"Well do you know what Sherlock, I am not willing to take that chance any more!" John hissed. He was infuriated. Sherlock was gambling with Jay's life and that was not tolerable.  
"She's a pawn to him, John. But if he kills her he has no power over me... and he wouldn't do that. Because a man with nothing left to lose is no use to him. For now, she's safe." Sherlock explained. His phone beeped again with another picture message. Sherlock hesitantly lowered their hands, missing the warmth the moment he dropped it. The text was a photograph:  A boring red brick building.  
 _ **Come alone. JM**_ **  
  
**Sherlock scanned his mind palace trying to place the building. John snatched the phone.  
"The nursery. On Sage Street..." He breathed. Jay's playgroup. "You're not going alone Sherlock."  
"If I bring the police it ruins his game and he might just hurt her." Sherlock said,  for all the world appearing like he feared John would go tell Lestrade everything.  
"Yeah. Well tell that mad bastard I'm playing too." John warned. Sherlock hesitated. He didn't want to anger the volatile maniac, but he couldn't deny John this battle - it was his fight too.  
 _ **John? SH**_  
The reply was almost instant.  
 _ **If you insist. JM  
  
**_ They didn't hesitate, didn't wait around to talk to police or crime scene investigators, instead they shared a grim nod between them and took off on foot, side by side. It was as they raced away from the crime scene that Greg, holed up in Mrs Hudson's living room, found the card in the bouquet of daisies. Three little letters, curled in blood red ink  
 __R I P  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I'm sorry I'm rubbish and that this took so long to update! I have no excuses - I'm just useless. This is also a ridiculously short chapter, but that's because the next chapter is ridiculously long and hopefully you won't have ridiculously long to wait.


	14. The Horror Story (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Showdown

  
A nursery had never looked more intimidating as the two fathers approached - a harmless red brick building, but one that contained a maniac holding their daughter captive.  
"Get your breath back." Sherlock urged, panting a little himself as he stopped by a tree to catch his breath.  
"She's in there!" Argued John, not content to wait even another second.  
"John, there was no time limit on this, the game isn't on until we walk through those doors. He won't do anything without us. He won't kill her because we're a minute late..." Sherlock breathed, hands on his knees. He was out of practice and he despised himself for it, staying at home had left him ill prepared for danger. He knew he was right though, Moriarty wouldn't touch her unless they were present - there would be no point. If his goal was to torture them - he'd want them to see. Sherlock straightened up and stared at the nursery, taking deep breaths. John was antsy, hand in his back pocket. "You brought your gun..." Sherlock observed.  
"He has our daughter, of course I brought my gun!" John snapped. Sherlock thinned his lips - because John hadn't picked his gun up from the flat when they'd received Molly's message, meaning he'd already been carrying it.  
  
This had been building up momentum for months, Sherlock hated that he hadn't fit the last pieces of the puzzle together sooner. It had been obvious to the detective why he was being targeted, but he'd genuinely had no idea it would play out like this. He'd presumed he was the target, he'd never intended Jay to end up... He took a deep breath.  
"John... if an opportunity presents itself where you may leave and get Jay to safety without me..." he began. John nodded in understanding.  
"Same goes." He agreed firmly. "Her life is worth more..." He added, resigning himself to the fact they probably wouldn't both make it out of there alive. Sherlock nodded stiffly.  
  
"Whatever you hear in there... whatever happens... you really ought to know that I..." He paused, trying to find the words. He'd tried to say this for years and never managed. "That is to say I do... you know I..." The detective shook his head. Pointless. Getting their breath back was one thing - Dilly dallying was another. He turned towards the building but John caught his sleeve.  
"I know." He said softly, locking eyes with the brunet. Sherlock's entire mask seemed to crack for just a moment, before settling into place. He nodded curtly, before crossing to the building. The door was shut but not locked. He placed his palm on the handle.   
"Ready?" He asked John. John raised his gun.  
"Ready... and just for the record. Me too. I mean... you know." Sherlock knew. Of course he knew, it was always nice to hear his deductions confirmed though. John cleared his throat, before Sherlock pushed the door open.   
  
The first thing to hit them was the smell. John in his frazzled state couldn't quite place it but Sherlock shivered.  
"Don't fire." He whispered as they trekked through the darkened hallway. The play room door creaked as they entered. "Don't fire!" Sherlock hissed again as John aimed his gun at the shadowy figure by one of the cribs.   
"Why the HELL not?" John demanded. The figure straightened up.  
"Glad you could join me boys." Said a hypnotic sing song voice. James Moriarty himself stepped into a patch of light, revealing he had Jay in his arms. His suit was pristine, if bulkier than usual, and he wore a baseball cap low on his forehead.  
  
Jay chirruped brightly at seeing her parents, reaching out for them. John felt his heart wrench, desperate to hold her.   
"The place is doused in petrol..." Sherlock said icily. "It makes a change to see you decked in plastic explosives." He mused, nodding his head to Jim's attire. With a bomb strapped to his chest under his suit and another under his cap, no shot would be fatal without killing them all and while John would gladly take the three adults out, if it came to it, he would never sacrifice Jay.   
"Oh you're good." Jim chuckled, bobbing Jay on his hip. She cooed and gripped the lapel of his suit with one hand, a rag doll dangling from her other arm. She seemed perfectly happy in his arms.  
  
John tried to tell himself that it was okay because Jay didn't know any better, but seeing her curled up on Moriarty's chest like that made him feel sick - he was using her as protection.  
"I'll ask nicely - let her go." John growled.  
"Oh I don't want your brat. Bit thick isn't she? Keeps saying 'mama', though I suppose with two daddies she must be confused." John twitched - Sherlock had a point, as tempting as it was to dive the five feet across the room and strangle Jim, he couldn't risk it.  
"If you don't want her, then hand her over." Sherlock said coldly. Jim gave an amused laugh, somehow his laugh managed to carry as though he was stood right next to them, cackling in their ears.  
"Oh you _have_ gone soft," He chided. "I'd hand her over but... well I'm not sure she's safe with you." Jim simpered, petting Jay on the head like an obedient dog, she giggled and chewed on the head of the rag doll. It occurred to John that he'd never seen the doll before, it wasn't one of theirs, though it seemed vaguely familiar.  
  
"She's a damn sight safer with us than with you." John said waspishly. Jim laughed again and Sherlock winced.   
"With you maybe... I take it you never told him? Tsk Tsk, Sherlock." Jim swayed his hips as he spoke, lulling Jay with a rocking motion, she giggled happily, obliviously content. "And here I thought _honesty_ was the key to any happy relationship." He pouted.  
"If you don't trust her with me, then give her to John." Sherlock spoke firmly. Surprisingly Jim approached them. John tensed as she squeaked, reaching one chubby fist for her daddy. Unceremoniously Jim tipped Jay into John's arms. The doctor gripped her far too tightly, kissing her hair and checking her quickly for injuries as Jim walked back, swaggering calmly across to a safe distance. No wounds, no explosives, other than smelling of petrol and clutching a tired old rag doll - she was as they'd left her.  
  
"I don't understand..." John said, stroking Jay's hair and looking at Jim. "What's to stop us just walking out of here? Or was the goal to scare us?" Because that had seemed too simple, he had his daughter back in his arms - where was the catch?  
"Sherlock has a visitor... Someone's been searching high and low for you Sherlock. The past has a funny way of coming back to haunt you, hm?" Sherlock had already been paler than usual upon entering the building, but the last of the colour drained from his face, leaving him sallow and grey.  
"Let them leave." He growled. "I will face whatever it is you have to throw at me just let them go!" There was an urgency to his tone that set John's teeth on edge, he instinctively stepped closer to the detective.  
  
"I had thought you'd recognise the doll." Jim said, disappointment evident in his voice. "Do you have any idea how hard that stupid old relic was to find?" His voice was teetering on annoyed now. "I had to kill so many shopkeepers, couldn't have them telling you what it was I was after... and yet you don't seem to care." Sherlock steadied himself and then turned, looking at Jay with resignation. Of course he recognised the doll.   
"Can I have it, please, small person?" He asked her softly, extending his hand. Jay stared at him curiously for a long moment before plonking the large blonde rag doll into his outstretched hand.  
"Mama!" She said brightly, as though hoping it would make her dad smile. John felt chilled by the look in Sherlock's eyes, it was haunted.  
"They stopped making this shortly after..." Sherlock mumbled, turning the doll over in his hand. John stared at it, trying to figure out the significance, it looked to him like any old doll, well loved by a small child once upon a time.   
"It's not the actual doll, obviously, that one was burned to a cinder, but it's the same in all other respects... except I hid a little present in that one for you, Sherlock." Jim smirked, nodding down at the doll to indicate. Sherlock tore the head off of the wretched thing that had haunted his dreams, stuffing falling away to reveal the handle of a knife. He pulled it free and threw the doll to the floor.  
  
"I don't understand..." John said again, bewildered. "You murdered toy shop keepers, you set fire to our flat... what? To get some children's toy?" He demanded, fury rising inside him. Jay head-butted his chest and yawned, he stroked her back to reassure her that it was okay, knowing she didn't like it when daddy shouted.  
"Set fire to your flat?" Jim asked, sounding genuinely as though this was new information. "Oh no, no that was just a happy accident, nothing to do with me." He grinned maliciously. 'Happy accident', of course a mad arsonist would say that. "I did leave the daisies every where I'd been though... so Sherlock knew what was coming. He knew what was coming and he didn't send you away... he doesn't love you, he was playing the game." Sherlock scowled a little, realising he'd been right about the wrong things.  
  
Sherlock turned the knife to catch all angles of the light, silently admiring the craftsmanship on the blade, a ruby embedded in the hilt - his mind whirring as he tried to work out Jim's next step. Did he want him to kill John? Was that the price for Jay's safety? Jim could so easily say that Sherlock didn't love them, but it was because Jim himself could not understand that kind of emotion. Sherlock didn't bother to argue - John knew.  
  
"Okay, we get it, you're a fucking lunatic. Can we go now?" John said exasperatedly.  
"Hm I _could_ let you go..." Jim hummed, swaying as he spoke, his eyes widening maniacally. "Or maybe they should know?" Jim sang. "After all, I don't think it's right someone like you gets to have a child, Sherlock... you can't be trusted, can you?"   
"I trust that man with my life." John growled. "And more-so... I trust him with hers." Sherlock winced, knowing this was the worst thing John could possibly have said.  
"Suit yourself Johnny, but I wouldn't trust my daughter with a child killer." John stood, waiting for Sherlock to deny it. Instead Sherlock closed his eyes, swallowed deeply and took a deep breath.  
"That was a long time ago."   
"You _murdered_ a little girl!" Jim crowed. Again, John expected a denial, again it never came.  
"This has nothing to do with Jay!" Sherlock roared, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of the dagger in rage.  
  
"It has everything to do with her... Do you remember what the jury said, hm?" Jim's voice has adopted a gleeful quality. "'No remorse', I believe, 'Inhuman' they said... The report said 'Sociopath'." He purred the last word. "And yet... you have a child of your own now... perhaps she ought to see what kind of man you really are. A heartless murderer." Jim licked his lips as though the very thought was delicious. John felt cold, he couldn't comprehend why Sherlock was letting Jim say all this if it wasn't true - but it couldn't be true, he knew Sherlock and Sherlock was many things, but a sociopath was not actually one of them no matter how much he protested.  
  
"You think someone like _you_ ought to be in charge of a child, Sherlock?" The madman's eyes gleamed wickedly. Sherlock trembled, quaking where he stood. "The baby, the boyfriend, the domestic bliss... people like us, Sherlock, we don't get a happy ending." Jim approached a side door that John knew lead to the kitchens,Jim's fingers caressing the handle lovingly caused John to brace himself, because whatever was behind that door had to be horrendous to make Sherlock shake so badly. "You're so keen to see me pay for my crimes, Sherlock... yet you killed Daisy Miller in cold blood and walked away scott free for all these years." Daisy Miller... John had heard bits and pieces of that story, caught fragments in the news, usually on the anniversary of her death.  
"I did my time." Sherlock breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I did my time!" He pleaded again, a little louder now. John felt sick to his stomach, trying to recall the news reports.   
  
"The family campaigned for years you know... to have your records unsealed, so that you'd never ever be allowed to have children of your own, so that the world would know you by your real name and face... the courts said no of course, they wanted to discourage vigilante justice." Jim pushed down the handle and opened the door. From beyond it a woman emerged, in her early forties with bedraggled hair. She looked like she'd just stepped out of a crack den, swaying wildly on the spot, eyes darting madly between the two men.   
  
Sherlock let out a choked noise upon seeing the woman, who set cold, mad, blue eyes upon him. She was much older, but her face was terrifyingly familiar.  
"Did you know she had a sister?" Jim asked, handing the woman a similar knife to Sherlock's. John froze, seeing what was about to happen.  
"You don't even deny it..." The woman croaked. "You stand there, bold as brass... admitting you killed her in cold blood..." She breathed, anger in every syllable. Sherlock thinned his lips.  
"I can't deny it..." He told her, honestly. "Lily, isn't it? Whatever Moriarty has promised you..."  
"He promised me revenge..." The woman, apparently known as Lily, said darkly. "He promised that I'd finally get to do what they should have done to you at the time. You should have swung for it! It's not fair! It's not fair that you get to live while she's buried in some graveyard!" Lily howled, clenching the knife.  
  
"It's not fair." Sherlock agreed, his voice breaking. "Moriarty doesn't intend for you to win this fight, Lily... He wants me to kill you." He showed Lily his own dagger. "He wants my daughter to see me as a killer..."   
"You are a killer!" Lily screeched. "She was SEVEN! She was seven years old and you killed her..." She sobbed, clinging to the knife. Sherlock nodded grimly.  
"I know... and that's why I won't fight you." Sherlock said, bottom lip trembling. He lay his own blade down by his feet, and held his hands up in surrender. "Know that I can never fix what I did, I can never make it better... but killing me won't bring her back, Lily." Moriarty frowned and John's heart beat threatened to thud its way free from his chest, Jay half heartedly reaching for the remnants of the rag doll Sherlock had thrown to the floor.  
  
"You're a monster. You don't deserve to live..." Lily said softly, justifying it in her own mind. Sherlock nodded his head, apparently completely in agreement.  
"I never said that I did." He sounded so heartbroken, John stepped forward.  
"Wait... please." He begged, he'd been in hostage situations before, Sherlock admitting to his crime and confessing his guilt would only persuade the unstable woman that she was right.  
"Who are you?" She asked, as though she'd only just realised he was there, her mind clouded by the reward of vengeance and possibly drugs, her eyes fell on Jay.  
"I'm John, John Watson..." Because giving himself a name made him appear more human, he had to appeal to her emotionally, make her realise that murdering Sherlock would not be a victimless crime.   
"John stop..." Sherlock pleaded.  
  
"I'm Sherlock's life partner..." John said, licking his bottom lip, because that was true no matter which was you sliced it. Moriarty rolled his eyes, he had expected fireworks by now but he was willing to see how it played out. "And this... this is our daughter, Jay." John nudged Jay who looked briefly at the lady with the knife before resuming her futile efforts to reclaim her doll. "I'm not excusing what Sherlock did... but I know he's spent years chasing down criminals... catching killers and making sure they pay. That doesn't make it right... it never will, but I know that man, heaven help me - I love that man." John confessed, saying it aloud for the first time in front of witnesses - he had told Jay months before, not that she understood. Sherlock looked away, ashamed.   
  
"If you kill him now, you'll be robbing a little girl of her dad, and she adores him." He rocked Jay gently, trying to turn her to face the situation. "He may have done bad... horrendous things, but he's a good father. He loves her... and she loves him. Please don't take that from her." He begged, meaning every word. The pale hand that brandished the knife faltered as Lily met Jay's wide, innocent gaze. Lily's facial expression softened.  
"Boring." Jim yawned, and in a flash of silver and red he'd darted across and slashed Lily's throat with his own knife. She let out a garbled cry, hand flying to her neck to try save herself.  
"NO!" John yelled, hastening to shield Jay's eyes as Lily crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath and clutching her throat. Sherlock moved at lightning speed, snatching his own blade from the floor and rolling forward to trip Jim.  
  
John had never felt so helpless in combat, Jay clinging to his shirt and screaming in distress as his palms covered her eyes. It felt like hours, watching the two men tussle on the floor. Moriarty seemed surprised that Sherlock had attacked physically, as though he'd expected a battle of wits. They rolled into a crib, knocking it on top of them and John heard a roar of pain. The next few seconds blurred into each other, the cot fell on its side as Sherlock sank his blade into Moriarty's neck.  
  
Blood spurted everywhere in a crimson fountain, soaking Sherlock through but he kept stabbing, hacking away at Moriarty's throat with venom. He grunted every time the knife pierced the bastard's skin, seemingly taking pleasure... no, relief, in ripping him to shreds.  
"Sherlock!" John shouted, panicked. "Sherlock stop it! He's dead! Stop!" Sherlock sat back on his heels, staring at the lifeless form pinned beneath him, a wicked gleam still in the deadened eyes that stared up at him. There was little of Jim's neck left, a mangle of shredded flesh and veins, Sherlock's hands covered in blood quite literally this time.  
"I'll see you in hell." Sherlock whispered. He stood, staring down at his blood soaked clothing, looking around at the petrol drenched room and the two bodies. He shook as he approached Lily, staring down at her.   
  
"I'm sorry..." He told her. "I'm sorry!" He yelled, wishing that mere volume could penetrate the veil of death. He didn't get to say it. John turned away from the carnage, only letting Jay see the door and not the bloodbath, as he took out his phone and dialled Lestrade's number.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: The next chapter will be Sherlock’s version of events. I'm so sorry for this chapter. Really, I am. If you still love me enough to review...


	15. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock explains his story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: angst ahead... sorry.

Sherlock had been sedated immediately following the events, John gave his statement while Sherlock was out. He told the whole truth, not certain Sherlock would like it - he didn't exactly have much choice, they hadn't had time to cook up a story. Lestrade had sat there, stunned, with Jay sleeping on his lap, he had broken all sorts of rules allowing Jay in to the interview room but she had crawled around merrily, and for the most part silently during John's patchy recount of the story. He'd been sent home on the instruction that once Sherlock had come round and given his own statement, Lestrade would personally deliver the detective back to the flat to ensure he didn't take off.  
  
So John sat in the living room, a half cold cup of tea in his hand as he watched Jay edge around the room, holding on to the table and the sofa. Her legs were getting stronger and more confident by the day and John knew she couldn't be far from her first unaided steps, on her way to becoming a small person as Sherlock called her, rather than a tiny baby. She grabbed John's keys off the table, shoving the fob into her mouth.  
"Ah ah!" John scolded, putting his hand out. "Please?" He was rewarded with a slobbery key-chain being slapped into his hand as Jay went off in search of something else to chew - teething was a nightmare. John stared at the spit-soaked picture of Jay's ultrasound, smiling to himself. It had all started so well. His eyes fell upon the ticking clock. He had no idea what was going to happen when Sherlock got home.  
  
He just felt confused, to be honest. He loved Sherlock, he was comfortable enough in admitting that now. Whatever Sherlock had done in his past, it had obviously screwed with his head but John found it impossible to believe that Sherlock was inherently bad or evil or a sociopath. He needed the full story, really. Jay appeared at his knee, a story book in her hand and the corner of it between her newly formed teeth. John smiled at her, picking her up and sitting her on his lap.  
"It's nearly your bedtime, Blue Jay." He observed, pointing at the clock. "Story first?" He said, prying the book gently from her grasp. She leaned against him while he read aloud. By the time the story (Little Red Riding Hood officially, but John preferred to tell it as Little Blue Riding Hood, for her sake.) had finished, she was out like a light, her head of dark feather soft hair rising rhythmically with the rise and fall of his chest.  
  
He kissed her head.  
"I love you." He told her softly. "And that won't change, whatever happens." He promised her. The infant did not stir, the excitement of the last 24 hours having exhausted her. He'd carry her to bed shortly, for that moment content to just let her sleep in his arms. The door clicked shut downstairs and familiar footsteps made their way up the staircase.  
  
Sherlock looked like hell, pale and worn, in fresh clothing and recently showered. John knew the police would have taken DNA samples from the blood spatter, the clothes would be in evidence bags. John held his finger to his lips.  
"Shh." He whispered, nodding to Jay. Sherlock stared at the scene, feeling oddly detached from it all.  
"I won't stay long." Sherlock swore, his voice low enough to not disturb her. "I'll pack my things and I'll be gone in a few hours." He reassured. John sighed, the heft of his breath dislodging Jay who murmured slightly before nuzzling deeper into her daddy's chest.  
"Is that really what you want?" John asked. Sherlock hesitated, momentarily transfixed by the pair, before nodding.  
"It's for the best." He whispered definitively. Slowly, carefully, John got to his feet with their daughter in his arms.  
  
"Put her to bed, I'll stick the kettle on." He said softly. Sherlock took a step back, shaking his head.  
"No... no I don't..."  
"Sherlock." John insisted. "I don't know why you did what you did, but I do know I trust you with her, please take her to bed." His voice was quiet but firm. Sherlock looked remarkably apprehensive still, but took the little girl into his arms. He carried her through to the bedroom and lay her down in her cot, tucking the blanket in on three sides.  
  
He couldn't count how many times he'd stood by this crib and just stared at her while she slept, how many times he'd been struck by the awe of how small and fragile she was. He took a deep breath, fingers ghosting over her face.  
"You won't remember me." He whispered to her. "That's probably a good thing... in the long run." He tilted his head, forgetting his speech for a long moment to watch her tiny chest work with each breath. An odd, sad smile formed on his face. "Daddy will take care of you from now on, small person, he'll keep you safe." He told her, a bittersweet feeling in his chest. He'd let her down, so terribly, he'd let John down.  
  
"You won't remember me." He repeated, bending down to kiss her forehead. "But I won't forget you." He swore, rising to a standing position and rubbing his eyes on the edge of his sleeve.  
"She'll be heartbroken, you know." John announced from the doorway, a cup of coffee in each hand. Sherlock didn't blame him for spying, he wouldn't trust himself alone with her either.  
"She'll forget, soon enough." Sherlock said, leaving the room and turning out the light, following John into the living room. The doctor sat on the sofa and indicated Sherlock join him, handing him his mug.  
  
"Where will you go?" John asked curiously.  
"I'm not sure... away. Out of London definitely, I'll have to come back for the court case but then maybe out of England." He sighed, sitting back and sipping at his drink, staring at the ceiling. John nodded, a court case was inevitable, two people were dead and while no court in the world would convict Sherlock under the circumstances, they would still need to try him.  
"Right..." John murmured. For a long while they sat in an uncomfortable silence, which John despised. He and Sherlock had never been uncomfortable around each other.  
  
"This feels like a break up." John muttered eventually.  
"We were never together." Sherlock hummed.  
"We were always together, prat." John's sad smile was heartbreaking as Sherlock weighed the words up carefully.  
"Yes, I suppose you're right." He agreed softly. "Were I a romantic sort this is probably where I'd give the whole 'in another time maybe we could have made it' speech, but the fact is this was doomed long before we met." He dead-panned seriously.  
"If you say so..." John said, disagreeing with the notion.  
"Wishful thinking won't change the outcome, John." Ironically, Sherlock sounded as though he wished it would.  
"Guess not..." John sighed, draining the last of his coffee.  
  
"You can leave... and I won't try to stop you, if you're sure." John stared into his mug, now completely empty, he absently counted the tea stained rings in the bottom. "But if you're walking out on me and our daughter... I'd like to know why." Sherlock placed his own mug on the coffee table and immediately regretted it, he needed something to do with his hands to distract himself. He picked up a biro instead and began dismantling it.  
"Do we really need to have this conversation?" He asked cautiously, fixating his gaze on the pen and not on John.  
"No... but if you don't tell me, Mycroft will." John said, pursing his lips.  
"He won't... he can't. He doesn't know the whole story, nobody does." John's tongue flicked out, trying to process that information.  
"But... it went to court didn't it?" He asked, confused.  
  
Sherlock sighed in resignation, he'd never told the whole thing through and he feared that John would hate him after it, but perhaps that was better, in the long term, maybe it would make his leaving easier.  
"I suppose I should start at the beginning then..." He slumped down in his seat, ankles crossed under the coffee table. "When I was eight years old, my father died of a heart attack. Just... dropped dead." His voice was cold and detached. He remembered his father well, but there was no sense getting himself upset over that part of the story. "My mother went a little... peculiar after that." He said tactfully, avoiding the labels he'd heard later.  
  
"Mycroft knew how to handle her, she'd get depressed, wouldn't talk for days at a time. Some days she seemed her usual self but when she got herself into a state she was convinced my father was still alive. It was a big secret, there were certain stigmas attached to mental illness, I suppose there still are. She was manageable for the most part." He explained.  
  
"Mycroft is eight and a half years older than me and one day about six months after my father died he got a letter saying he'd been accepted into a college in France, a year earlier than expected - he was seventeen." Sherlock hummed and stood up, pacing a little as he spoke. He had a restless mind, he couldn't stand sitting idle whilst explaining all this. "It was a golden opportunity apparently, the prodigal son... he promised to come back on term breaks and holidays and he left. He got up and left me with my mother." There was an element of spite in Sherlock's tone, resentment for the older brother who had escaped.  
"That must have been pretty scary..." John opted, trying to picture an eight year old Sherlock effectively fending for himself.  
"She wasn't in any fit state to look after a child, she was very unwell and I was... difficult at best. I managed for a while, did the shopping at the local corner store, took myself off to school but eventually Mummy's health deteriorated. On the days she was convinced my father was alive she began to get angry if I explained to her that he'd died a year earlier... occasionally she'd lash out."  
  
Sherlock paused in his frantic pacing as he remembered the first time his mother had struck him. He remembered the hurt he'd felt, how apologetic she'd been after, how distressed she'd been at the realisation she had hit her child.  
"I wrote to Mycroft but... I didn't want to be the reason he came home, I didn't want to be the one who ruined his chances so... I told him everything was fine. I wrote such nonsense I was sure he knew I was lying but he never called me up on it. If mummy left bruises I covered them with her make up or took a day or two off of school. She wasn't a bad woman she was just... she was confused." He said, attempting to justify her behaviour in even his own mind.  
  
"Inevitably the day came when she hit me too hard... she ripped an electric cord off of the lamp and whipped me with it." He winced at the recollection of searing pain across his back and John remembered the thin white line down Sherlock's back, the scar a visible reminder. "She didn't mean it and she was so sorry. I told her it was fine... tried to bandage it up myself but she'd never made me bleed before and my first aid knowledge was at that point amateur at best." He blew out an exasperated sigh, frustrated with his nine year old self. He stopped for a long time, and even though John knew what happened next in the story he still had to ask.  
"And then... you were taken into care?"  
"The wound came open when I was at school, bled through my shirt. The teachers insisted on a home visit... my mother was out of her mind by then, kept telling them her husband would be home shortly and he wouldn't hear these accusations against her because she loved Mycroft very much and would never hurt him. When they pointed out it was me they were asking about... she had no idea who I was." John breathed heavily, knowing that his mother forgetting him must have been more painful than any wound Sherlock had received in her care.  
  
John fought the urge to stand up and hug Sherlock, because it was obvious the story would only become more tragic. He felt pity for the man, the boy who had tried to care for an obviously disturbed mother.  
"They took me into emergency foster care and put her into a care home. I was placed with an elderly couple for a few weeks, and then moved to a larger foster family... they said I was withdrawn, that I needed to interact with other children to repair the damage my mother had inflicted." He laughed bitterly as John stood to make another cup of coffee, feeling he had to do something.  
  
"Mycroft had been informed but until he was eighteen he couldn't take legal custody of me so he stayed in France and wrote to me often. I was with three other children, an older boy - Jackson, he was fifteen and a juvenile delinquent, drugs, petty theft, the usual. Daisy, who was seven, and had been recently orphaned, her elder sister was in rehab and she had nobody else to care for her." His tone faltered ever so slightly at the mention of her name. "Not forgetting Raheema, she was three at the time, she had downs syndrome... she was nice, I liked her." He mused thoughtfully.  
  
"The parents were okay I suppose, a bit... chirpy. They wanted us all to get along and pretend we were siblings, they treated us like we were in a holiday camp, like they didn't realise they were caring for..." He paused, trying to find the right word. "Troubled children." He decided upon, taking the cup John handed him without pausing in his explanation.  
  
"Raheema was innocent, pure, didn't speak a word but she knew, she knew everything that was going on... Jackson didn't want to associate with us 'babies', so that left me and Daisy." He sipped from his cup and flinched as though he hadn't anticipated it being hot. "I hated her." He said honestly, pure loathing in his voice. "She was a bully, she was cruel, she told lies to try get me into trouble... she made my life an absolute hell." He shook his head. "My saving grace was that Mycroft was turning eighteen... that he'd come home and get me away from this stupid little girl..."  
  
Sherlock froze still as a statue.  
"He didn't come for me... he turned eighteen and... he wanted to finish that term, leave me there another six months so he could get his certificate and come home ready for university." Sherlock still hadn't moved, facing away from John. "His _education_ was more important than me... said it was for both of our benefits, that he'd be much more likely to get into a university close by, so we wouldn't have to move, if he could just finish his course. I wrote to him... I begged him to come home but..." The detective sighed and let his shoulder slump.  
"Oh, Sherlock..."John frowned, feeling the resentment radiating off of Sherlock - he'd felt abandoned.  
"Stop that." Sherlock snapped. "Don't... don't feel sorry for me. Believe me, I'm not the victim in this story." His tone was sharp and angry.  
  
"One day, after Mycroft had written me off... Daisy picked a fight with me, I caught her pinching Raheema, flicking her, so I told her off. I liked Raheema." He repeated, remembering the look on the face of the sweet little girl as her 'sister' flicked her on the nose."Daisytold me that... that at least her parents were both dead, that I was only in the foster home because nobody wanted me... I was a _freak_ and she wasn't surprised that they'd abandoned me... I made the mistake of crying, I should never have let her know how much she could hurt me, she found my biggest insecurity and she picked at it and picked at it for weeks until one day I just... snapped." He clicked his fingers. John bit his lip. He didn't know what to say, it was pretty awful but he could see it happening in his mind's eye. Sherlock had been through so much so young, was it any wonder he was messed up?  
"So... you killed her." John whispered, knowing the answer.  
"She... had this stupid little rag doll that she carried around with her everywhere. The same type Moriarty acquired... Her mother had given her it before her parents died... she loved that wretched little thing, it was the only sentimental thing they'd left her. One day she'd been tormenting me, the usual stuff, I was unlovable, unwanted, I should just throw myself off a roof and be done with it."  
  
John clenched his fists, he knew how this story ended, but he could feel everything Sherlock was describing as though it were happening to him right then and there in front of him, a slow motion movie of the destruction of Sherlock Holmes, and John was powerless to stop it because it had already happened.  
"She only ever let the thing out of her sight at bath time... we weren't allowed scissors or anything sharp but I knew Jackson was sneaking cigarettes into his room so... I took her doll when she was in the bath, I took Jackson's matches from his bedroom and I went down to the garden shed where I knew the fosters kept the fuel for the ride along mower. I poured a little of the fuel onto the doll... but Daisy must have finished her bath early that day. She came in and found me just as I was about to light the match..."  
  
Sherlock shook his head, sending his curls flying.  
"I wanted her to see... I wanted her to see it burn. I wanted her to hurt like she'd hurt me and I just... I lit the match and she screamed and pounced on me... we fought, the match fell to the floor and the tub of fuel just... it went up." He clenched his fists and his eyes tightly shut. "The fire got out of control. I dragged Daisy out of the shed but she fought against me. She just kept screaming that she wanted her dolly." John cocked his head, because the story hadn't gone the way he'd expected... so far this wasn't murder.  
  
"My shirt caught fire as we got out the door, and I just sort of threw Daisy clear of the flames, onto the grass... I stopped dropped and rolled, that's what I'd been taught. My skin was burned... I remember I could smell it cooking..." His hand instinctively fell to the other scar John had seen, the burn on his hip, skin bubbled an angry red.  
"Sherlock..." John said cautiously.  
"I looked around and she was gone..." Sherlock said, sounding numb now. "The stupid girl had gone back inside for her doll, it was all she'd had left of her parents and she loved it so much she went back in for it. I heard her scream but the fire was too wild, I could hear the sirens - someone had already called the fire brigade. I couldn't do anything... I just sat there... I watched her burn to death." John felt tears in his eyes as he clapped his hand to his mouth.  
  
"It was December, so I was a month shy of my tenth birthday - the legal age of criminal responsibility." Sherlock said coldly. "The lawyers said I wasn't old enough to understand what I'd done... But I was. I knew exactly what I'd done... I wanted to pay for it. I wanted to be punished, to be sent to prison, to be locked up. So when they asked me what had happened... all I said was 'I wanted to hurt her'." Sherlock sighed. "The case went to court but I never stood trial, they wouldn't let me because I was too young. Mycroft came home then... tried to plead my case but the psychiatrists had all heard me say it. ' _I hated her, I wanted to hurt her, I killed her._ '"  
"Oh god, Sherlockthat was an accident!" John cried, in shock. Sherlock shook his head.  
"No... I started the fire on purpose, I set out to hurt her and I hurt her..."  
"You set out to burn a toy!" John argued, shocked. Sherlock seemed to genuinely believe his own words.  
"It doesn't matter! I knew how much she loved that stupid thing. I wanted her to hurt. She was a stupid little girl who is dead because I hated her for _being_ a stupid little girl... kids call each other names they say cruel things... she didn't deserve to die because of me." The detective said, near hysterics.  
  
"Sherlock... Sherlock listen to me." John stood, forcing the taller man to face him by gripping Sherlock's shoulders. "You say she was a stupid little kid and yeah, you're right, but Sherlock, you seem to be forgetting - so were you." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, apparently confused. "You were nine years old, Sherlock, you made a mistake and somebody died and that's awful but... Sherlock kids make mistakes! You had no idea that would happen... you couldn't have known." He took hold of Sherlock's shoulders.  
"The courts agreed, I was a sociopath. They put me in a children's psychiatric ward until I was eighteen. Because I was under age the records were sealed and I was granted anonymity - I got away with murder." Sherlock continued as though he hadn't heard John's defence.  
"It was an accident!"  
"It doesn't matter!" Sherlock roared loudly. A cry erupted from the bedroom and Sherlock winced - his ranting had woken Jay.  
  
"It doesn't matter? Sherlock, look at you!" John's voice was raised but it wasn't in anger. "Look how upset you are because you made a baby cry. You are NOT a sociopath, Sherlock!" John stressed. Sherlock shook his head wildly, curls flying. "You've been carrying that around for twenty odd years, that guilt, that self-loathing. Sherlock... you fucked up. You made a mistake but you are not a killer."  
"I intended..." Sherlock started, louder than even the pitiful wailing from the next room.  
"You're telling me that if a nine year old child... Jay. In nine years time if Jay came to you and Greg with that exact same story - would you tell her she was a cold blooded murderer? Or would you wrap your arms around her and tell her that it wasn't her fault? Would you tell her she deserved to spend nine years in a psychiatric ward, or praise her for trying to drag Daisy from the flames?" Sherlock looked as though he'd been punched in the gut, his breathing ragged and shocked - he'd never dream of saying anything like that to Jay.  
  
"Sherlock... it's not my place to forgive you, I can't give you that relief because you need to forgive yourself, but I don't blame you - nobody who knew the truth would. It wasn't your fault." It was as if someone had flicked an invisible hearing aid and Sherlock heard it for the very first time. It wasn't his fault. He fell to his knees, staring at the carpet - John was convinced he was crying. He placed his hand gently on Sherlock's shoulder, squeezing it rhythmically.  
"Go..." Sherlock croaked almost inaudibly over the ruckus their daughter was making. "Go see to her." John knew his shuddering partner needed some privacy, so he nodded. He bent and placed a gentle kiss in Sherlock's curls before vanishing into the bedroom.  
  
Sherlock tried to organise his thoughts, to make sense of it, but was unable to. A swirling jumble of John's words cutting into a belief he'd held for over twenty years. It was too much, overload. He could hear John singing in the next room to quieten the irritable baby. How was he supposed to raise Jay with accurate morals when he couldn't even differentiate between an accident and murder? He clenched his fists in the carpet. It was a catch 22 and guilty or innocent, either way he wasn't fit to be a parent. And then there was John, whose soft singing voice was carrying into the room (more Katy Perry, which brought an odd smile to the corner of Sherlock's lips) - how was it fair on John to have to take care of her and Sherlock at the same time. In this condition, Sherlock knew he was volatile, a liability. Jay's whinging stopped, a few more snuffles and Sherlock's mind was made up. The minute John returned, Sherlock spoke up.  
  
"I'm still leaving."  
"You don't need to..." John said, shaking his head.  
"Yes, I do." Sherlock said simply, climbing to his feet and avoiding John's eye. "It's all... muddled. I can't make sense of any of it here. I need to be on my own for a while, get out of London, sort my head out." He spoke softly. "I'll go pack, I'll be careful not to wake her."  
  
For nearly an hour John sat silently in the living room, staring at the ceiling whilst Sherlock gathered his things. He couldn't lie, couldn't say he understood but he could appreciate that Sherlock needed space, time to come to terms with two decades of guilt. It didn't lessen the blow of seeing Sherlock emerge with a suitcase - one of the same ones they'd brought with them to Whitby on their first - and possibly only, family holiday.  
"This is goodbye then..." Sherlock said awkwardly, crossing one arm over his chest and rubbing his opposite shoulder.  
"Will you be back?"  
"I don't know..." Sherlock said honestly. "I'd like to think so but I don't know how long it will take. I might be gone a few days but it could be years." He sounded broken, John supposed they both were. He nodded and followed the detective to the door.  
  
"Well... we'll both be here when you get back." John promised, looking him in the eye as they stood there in the doorway. Sherlock shook his head.  
"Don't. Don't wait around. If you should... if you were to meet someone else you have my blessing." He said boldly.  
"Who am I going to meet that's as brilliant as you?" John laughed, shaking his own head sadly. Sherlock smiled softly.  
"Quite right. Thank you, John Watson." Sherlock dipped his head, pressing his mouth to John's in a deliberate, well intended, goodbye kiss. John let his arms raise to around Sherlock's neck whilst Sherlock's hands cupped John's face. It was breathtakingly intimate, heartbreakingly final and when Sherlock pulled away John chased his lips back upwards to prolong it just a little longer. Sherlock broke the kiss but not the embrace, keeping their foreheads together just a few more moments.  
  
"Look after her, John." He muttered, and with that he turned on his heel and walked away. John watched him until his silhouette had vanished from the corridor, before closing the door and sitting on the sofa - alone. It took him three whole minutes before he buried his head in his hands and let the reality of it all sink in.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I'm sorry this chapter was supposed to be the fix it chapter but there was a hell of a lot of back story to get through and argh, my babies. The next chapter will be fluff and rainbows and baby giggles I promise, just please stick with it until then.
> 
> Reviews mean the world to me, really they do.

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: What the hell is Sherlock actually doing!? Adoption does not work like that Sherlock! (Also, massive thanks to my RP partner Ella, she and I have been rping with Jay involved for a while and even though she says Jay was my idea I LOVE the way she writes her, so massive hugs to her!) Reviews are like gold dust to me! Please?


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